


Bent and Broken (Into a Better Shape)

by undertheimperius



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: deancasbigbang, F/M, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of past abuse, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undertheimperius/pseuds/undertheimperius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, MD, has just started his fellowship in child psychiatry at a new hospital with his longtime friend, Charlie Bradbury, but when he meets his attending, the frustratingly aloof Dr. Novak, he’s afraid he’s met his match. Through new forged friendships and the pain of loss, Dean finds that there’s more to Dr. Novak than meets the eye and that maybe, just maybe he can learn a thing or two. </p><p>written for the <a href="http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/">Dean/Cas Big Bang 2013</a></p><p>art by the lovely minions4pie available <a href="http://minions4pie.livejournal.com/3472.html">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many people to thank for this; without the help of my good friends [Meg](http://ofwnchesters.tumblr.com) and [Jackie](http://the-jackie-brown-paper-company.tumblr.com), I would not have been able to even consider writing this. They were both alphas and betas in their own right, being there for me when I had a bunch of ideas that I just needed to yell out at someone and likewise being able to tell me when I was being dumb. They help me edit along the way and then gave everything one last look when it was finished. Shout out to another one of my beta readers, [Sarah](http://daddyjensen.tumblr.com), for giving the final product a look through, too. You guys are all so awesome!!
> 
> UPDATE: I plan on writing an epilogue/coda for this fic. It's all planned out - I just need to write it - so keep your eyes peeled! I'll be writing it as a separate fic and I'll link to it in the author notes for this story as soon as I finish writing it.
> 
> UPDATE 2.0: Some of you have been asking for a sequel in the comments, and I'm considering putting the epilogue on hold to write that instead. I've got a bunch of ideas! The only thing is that I'm also working on a couple of manuscripts of my own right now, have school work to do, and have just come up with my big bang idea for next summer. That being said, I'm going to have to put the entire continuation of this fic project on hold for the time being. I haven't forgotten, though! Bug me if it feels like I have!

"Dean. No offense, but your funeral march vibes are kind of putting a damper on my morning coffee and last I checked, we’re psych fellows at a _children’s hospital_ \- not stormtroopers-in-training at the Death Star," Charlie intoned, crossing her arms over her chest. Her features were schooled into the epitome of dissatisfaction, her eyebrows narrowed and lips pressed into a fine line, one finger tapping absently on her elbow; even her maraschino cherry hair, which was currently pulled back into a loose bun with fine rebellious wisps escaping to frame her face, seemed to be scolding him.

Dean took a sip of his coffee and set it back down on the table in front of him, hoping that the slight tremor in his hand would go unnoticed; knowing Charlie and considering how long she had had to learn his mannerisms, it likely didn’t. He wasn’t nervous, or at least, not as nervous as he appeared to be. The fact of the matter was that he had no reason to be nervous; ergo, he was _not_ nervous. “Why would I be nervous?” he countered, tugging on his cuffs and readjusting his collar as his eyes desperately sought out anything other than his friend’s disapproving face. 

“D’you want a refill?” Dean took Charlie’s still half-full mug of coffee from where it sat in front of her on the table and sauntered to the register without waiting for her response. The barista behind the counter appeared unamused and took the mug, dumped its contents, and went about pouring a fresh cup of coffee. The menu board was looking awfully interesting that morning with its colorful words scrawled in chalk and small cartoon angels poking each other in the wings with their harps.

“You’re being evasive,” he said, passing back the mug. “And you’re nervous.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Dean hissed under his breath.

The barista simply lifted both of his eyebrows, murmuring, “I’m just saying.”

Dean grabbed a copy of the morning newspaper from a stand by the register and slipped a five dollar bill to the barista who, according his black polo with white script embroidery - complete with gold thread halo encircling the first letter - was named Samandriel. “Keep the change with your commentary.” 

Samandriel mimed zipping his lips shut, locking them, and tossing the imaginary key behind his shoulder.

“See?” stated Charlie from her perch by the window, “You’re not fooling anyone. You’re quaking in your regulation Star Fleet boots like a redshirt.”

Dean ignored her taunting and opened his newly-acquired newspaper. “You can’t make a Star Wars reference and a Star Trek reference in the same five minutes. Strictly goes against code.” He quickly flipped to the back of the paper and began scanning the listings for any names that he recognized.

Charlie tried her hardest to burn holes in his paper with frustrated blue-green eyes; growing annoyed with his silent treatment, she slapped her hand over the newspaper, slamming it down on the tabletop. He speared her with a look of exasperation, struggling and failing to pull the paper out from under her hand.

“Dean, I don’t get what your problem is. You already have three years of adult psych under your belt; you’re already a practicing psychiatrist. Just think of it as two more years of training with slightly smaller people.”

“That’s _exactly_ what my problem is,” grumbled Dean, taking a deep swig of his black coffee and reveling in the feel of the hot dark liquid coursing down his throat. He had never even been supposed to get into a medicinal specialty that was going to require so much direct patient contact. He had meant to follow in his father’s footsteps, become an orthopedic surgeon and replace joints for a living. It didn’t matter that the idea of slicing, dicing, and walking away made him uncomfortable. It didn’t matter that, as he learned through his rotations in med school, he preferred talking to his patients and learning more about the way their minds worked than the way their knees didn’t bend. It had already been decided for him; Winchesters were surgeons. Sammy had gone and fucked that up the day he refused an MCAT study manual and bought his own set of LSAT books instead, much to their dad’s chagrin. It had been expected that Dean would maintain the family image, take up his scalpel, and join the surgical practice.

After John died, though... As unnerving as it sounded in his head to even think it at the time, Dean felt free - free from expectation, free from the risk of disappointing his father. He had realized that he could do whatever he wanted to do, destiny be damned. He had already managed to get into medical school; wasn’t that enough? He could be his own man. Match Day had shown that he was capable of getting into a prime psychiatric residency program, bolstering his confidence in his own ability, and his first three years proved that working in mental health had been the right choice. Listening to his patients’ stories every day, working to help them through the blockades that had erected themselves in their paths... Although many came in to the hospital broken, many left with a plan of action and a brighter outlook on life. To think that he had helped contribute to the improvement of their health filled him with a warm sense of accomplishment that he knew he couldn’t have gotten from surgery.

His residency in adult psychiatry had been great, and although there had been some pitfalls along the way - not all patients got better, and some were failed by the healthcare system and unfortunately fell through cracks - he actually enjoyed going to work every day. When the time had come to decide whether he was going to search for a job or keep studying, however, he had found himself in the match process all over again as he had applied to fellowship programs in child and adolescent psych, which had led him to where he was now: freaking out with his best friend of seven years in a coffee shop in the middle of Seattle on the morning of the first day of his new career. Awesome.

The coffee shop, Heavenly Grounds, was a small little joint tucked between a second-hand clothing boutique and a bookstore; Dean and Charlie had stumbled upon it one afternoon during medical school when they had been lucky enough to find the time to scramble out from underneath their suffocating mountain of textbooks. The chocolate brown cabinetry, cream-and-amber swirled granite counter tops, and matching flooring gave the shop an air of posh style, but combined with well-worn mis-matching furniture, a collection of thrifted knick-knacks, and paintings made by local artists, it came across as homey and welcoming. The eclectic decor almost seemed as if the designer responsible had wanted to convey a feeling of, “I’m classy, but I don’t want to be taken too seriously.” 

Charlie had claimed a small table that she referred to as prime people-watching real estate because of its position, sequestered deep enough into the corner that they wouldn’t be easily disturbed. However, on their first day at the shop, they had been sniffed out and greeted by a short honey-haired, golden-eyed man who had taken to them with gusto and offered them their first coffees and pastries on the house; he’d said something along the lines of needing to make sure the medical professionals of tomorrow were properly caffeinated and fed and also seemed genuinely interested in their stories when they complained about coursework or sleepless nights. Dean never admitted it out loud, but he and Charlie continued to return to the place every day for more than just the coffee; it had been the warm atmosphere that he hadn’t been lucky to be a part of in years.

Dean finally wrestled his newspaper from underneath Charlie’s hand and went back to reading as if she hadn’t interrupted him.

“Will you stop ignoring me?” she huffed.

“As soon as you stop being annoying.” He pushed the mug of coffee that he had retrieved for her closer to her hands. “Drink your coffee and stop talking,” he grumbled. “Gabe might hear you.” That was certainly the _last_ thing he wanted. As much as he got along with the shop owner - _usually_ \- he didn’t want his argument with his colleague to expand.

Charlie took the mug, but did not appear appeased. “Quit being a little bitch and put the obits away. It’s disturbing.”

“You read them, too.” After working in healthcare with particular patient populations, it had become habit; although he hated seeing the names of patients in print, it was better to know what happened to the few that hadn’t been able to swim out from under the suffocating waves of their diseases than live pretending that everything was always peachy.

“Yeah, but not over morning coffee!”

Dean rolled his eyes and took a sip of his own coffee. “That’s right; you read them during lunch. How’s that any better?”

“Is that Dean-O and Charlie I hear?” rang a voice from the kitchen. Dean groaned and shot Charlie a pointed look as he folded up his paper and placed it by his mug.

Gabriel busted out of the doors separating the kitchen from the rest of the shop’s interior with a plate of flaky pastries in his hands. He set the plate down between the two, dusting imaginary crumbs off of his hands on his half apron, and stood proudly with his hands on his hips. “Croissants stuffed with chocolate-hazelnut creme, fresh out of the oven. Made them myself. You’re welcome.”

Dean eyed the offering appreciatively, but his stomach didn’t feel like cooperating, so he decided to stick with his molten caffeinated gold. Charlie, never one to ignore sweets, gave her green-eyed friend a look that said their conversation wasn’t over and nabbed one off of the plate, biting into the pastry with a soft moan of appreciation. “These are positively sinful, Gabriel,” she said after swallowing down her mouthful with a sip of coffee. “Trust me; if I liked guys, we’d be married by now.”

“Isn’t that just my luck.” Gabriel pulled a chair from a nearby table and spun it so that his thighs straddled the backrest and he could rest his chin on the top. “I finally find a beautiful woman who loves me for my baking, but alas: she prefers other beautiful women.” His attention shifted to the mountain of man-pain staring absently out the window and he pushed the plate closer to freckle-face’s nose. “Quit the sulking and eat up, Dean-O. I didn’t bake those for my own health, y’know.”

“Thanks, Gabe, but no thanks. I’m not all that hungry.”

Gabriel staggered backwards, nearly falling out of his chair, and clutched his hand to his chest. “A day when Dean Winchester isn’t hungry? Say it ain’t so, my friend! When a dog doesn’t eat... That’s when you know something’s really wrong.”

“Remarkably patronizing concern duly noted,” Dean deadpanned, ripping off a small bite of the croissant and stuffing it into his mouth to appease the baker. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic. So, what’s got your panties all up in a bunch? You can’t be telling me that you’re actually nervous for your first day.” Gabriel stole a piece of the croissant as well, chewing enthusiastically and likely applauding himself for a job well done, the asshole.

Charlie nodded in agreement, chewing rapidly so that she could open her mouth to speak. “It’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers or something.”

“1956 original or 1978 remake?”

“I can’t decide. I’m almost wondering if I should call the moose troops in for backup. D’you remember when we started our residency last time? He was like a little excited puppy, nearly pissing himself with excitement, and now, when he should be even more confident, he’s practically running away with his tail between his legs!”

“Hello, still here,” Dean grumbled, waving his hand between both of their faces. Charlie grabbed his wrist and slammed his hand back on the tabletop.

It was true that Dean had been more gung-ho about starting his residency, but he had also spent more time at that particular hospital and felt as if he knew what to expect. He had been lucky enough to match and intern at the same teaching facility that he had gone on rotations in during med school; he had been surrounded by residents throughout his studies and knew the program pretty well. He’d grown comfortable, and so sue him if that meant that he’d grown complacent, too, but after two years of school and three years of residency, he had known where he stood in an adult hospital. Kids were a totally different story. That, and, despite the fact that he enjoyed working with children during his pediatric rotations, he wasn’t as sure about working with the _doctors_ that worked with children. From what he remembered from school, pediatricians could be _fucking insane_ \- even worse than the L  & D nurses. Something about taking care of kids tended to trigger a foaming-at-the-mouth protective instinct in people. 

“Yeah, you’re here, but you’re not an excited puppy like you used to be. Get your shit together, little lion; the wizard’s not going to miraculously hand over some courage,” countered Charlie. “You want this, you know you do, and you’re going to do great.”

“She’s right,” said Gabriel. “Dean, ol’ buddy ol’ pal, there’s nothing to worry about. Sure, some pediatricians can be short a couple of screws and go mutant mother hen when one of their chicks is threatened, but it’s not like you don’t know what you’re doing, right? Besides, you’ve already dealt with the adult side of things, so how hard can it be?”

Dean absently ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the attempt he had made earlier at actually making himself look presentable. It was impossible to argue against them when there were two of them on his back, especially when they were right. He _wanted_ this program, more than anything; had he been content with working with adults, he wouldn’t have bothered to apply and probably wouldn’t have matched at any programs. He wanted to work with children, help them through tough times… be there for them like he had been for Sammy when they were kids. It was what he was _made_ to do.

“Fine,” he conceded, swallowing down the lump of nerves that had wedged itself in his throat as he wrapped the rest of his croissant in a napkin. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now get your ass out of here and take some pastries for the road; I made those little cinnamon apple tartlets you like.” Gabriel pushed his chair under the table and sauntered back to the counter where he filled a box with a couple of miniature apple pies for Dean and a large cut of fudge cheesecake brownies for Charlie. “And think of it this way: if today really sucks, at least you can eat your feelings.”

Dean flipped the shorter man the middle finger and Gabriel pretended to be scandalized, albeit poorly so.

“Thanks, Gabe,” said Charlie, taking the box with a grateful smile and pulling Dean past the tinkling bells tied to the shop’s door out to where his shiny black car was parked on the curb. Dean situated himself behind the wheel of the car and stared blankly past the windshield. He _wasn’t_ nervous. It wasn’t like he was about to board a plane to another country to do something he had no training to do whatsoever; _that_ was terrifying, what with the flying and all. He was only moving to a new hospital to work under a new attending and learn a new way to practice medicine. No big deal. It was what he’d worked the majority of his adult life for; now was not the time to be chickening out.

“You alright there?” Charlie asked, nudging him in the ribcage.

He released a breath he hadn’t realize he’d been holding in a long low exhale before turning the key in the ignition and setting off onto the road. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice coming out a half-octave higher than it normally was; he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone else, but he wasn’t going to give up. “How hard can it be?”


	2. Chapter 2

As his luck would have it, it turned out that it could be a lot harder than he thought.

Seattle Children’s Hospital was different from the usual large imposing buildings of off-white concrete and horizontal glass panels of the adult hospitals that Dean had previously worked at. Instead, the floors appeared to be stacked upon each other in a staggered formation, exposing large expanses of rooftop that were covered in lush green foliage. Each unit stuck out in a jagged edge from the main hospital complex - a grouping of colorful long rectangular glass buildings that were all connected by concrete-and-glass bridges and surrounded by pristine manicured shrubbery - and had large windows that overlooked the stone rotunda and garden by the hospital’s entrance. With all of its clean precision and extensive design, the structure looked as if it would have been better suited as a modern mountainside mansion for a Hollywood executive than a health center.

On the inside, however, the hospital seemed as if it couldn’t have been built for anything _but_ children. The lobby had high stretched ceilings and skylights that poured the brightness of the warm summer sun on golden maple laminate flooring that continued throughout the rest of the hospital. The waiting areas off to the side of each of the wings were filled with bright plaid furniture, plush carpet, and colorful geometric tables and ottomans in greens, blues, oranges, and magentas. Building blocks, dolls, and toy abacuses were scattered about the tables and the magazine titles for the adults - things like _Parenting_ and _Highlights_ \- were far different from anything Dean had ever seen at any of his previous places of employment. The walls didn’t scream of forced hospital sterility in the form of white paint or dated wallpaper; instead, they were a comforting cream and covered with modern pieces of artwork and glass light boxes that reflected the color scheme the hospital was trying to enforce, the same color scheme that was echoed in the pinwheel-shaped badge that decorated the lapel of Dean’s white lab coat. All in all, it looked a lot more like a five-star hotel made for children than any hospital he had ever seen.

In a way, it made sense. Some of the children who frequented hospitals didn’t spend much time there. They were in, received their treatment - a cast for a broken leg, monitored fluids and nutrition for bad bouts of the stomach flu - and were sent back with their families to live out the rest of their childhood. Others were more permanent residents, such as the children in the oncology units for whom each day was a battle for survival, and needed a place where they could feel comfortable and safe. From the way the hospital presented itself, Dean was beginning to have no trouble believing that maybe Seattle Children’s could be that place.

Unfortunately for him, Dean wasn’t able to appreciate the view for what it was as his day had already gotten off to a rough start. A headache had begun to brew between his temples because, contrary to the rules that normally ran in the Impala, he had allowed Charlie to choose the music in exchange for her shutting up about his supposed nerves; he’d already had enough talk about his emotions over breakfast and didn’t want to keep it going until he got to work. What he had not expected, however, was for her to root out the X-Ray Spex tape he kept hidden in the deepest recesses of his glove compartment and spend the entire drive belting along with the high-pitched whine of the lead singer’s voice. Of all of the tapes he owned and kept in an old shoebox in his car, could she have found something a little bit more palatable to the ear and less, well, _screechy_? The answer to that question had obviously been a deep and resounding _no_. When he’d asked, begged, _pleaded_ for her to turn that damn shit down so help him, she’d simply ignored him like the petulant little bitch she was and turned the radio up louder.

“What’s got your pink satin panties in a twist?” asked Charlie, poking the navy blue University of Washington crest emblazoned on Dean’s shoulder, her face the truest picture of innocence.

“As if you don’t fucking know,” Dean growled under his breath, refusing to look in her direction.

“ _Language_ , Dr. Winchester. There are _children_ ,” she hissed.

Dean cleared his throat and reached to adjust the knot of his tie. “ _Fine_. As if you don’t _freaking_ know. _Better_?”

“Much.” She looked awfully pleased with herself then, her hair practically bouncing after her as she continued along beside him, her heels clacking on the laminate flooring. It wasn’t long before they reached the psychiatric ward, as it was simply an elevator ride up a few flights and a couple of turns down a hallway; thankfully, they’d already gotten the badges that allowed them clearance into the unit activated, as Dean would _not_ have wanted to go through the badge process on his first real day of work. 

The employee badge office was already a nightmare and half; it didn’t need the added stress of feeling like a fresh-faced newbie despite the few years of experience he already had under his belt. The office - if the tiny closet with a camera, a computer, and a printer could be called such - was tucked into the deepest recesses of the hospital that the administration obviously didn’t want seen by the public, along with the occupational health office that had subjected him to all manners of drug tests, complete with nurses listening intently to him take a piss from outside the unlocked bathroom door and counting exactly how many minutes it took to collect a few cc’s of urine in a plastic cup. After a handful of attempts at getting a decent picture, Dean had left with a badge that read, “Dean Winchester, MD” with the subtitle of “Fellow,” all slipped into a white plastic sleeve labeled “doctor” in bold red capital letters that he pinned to the lapel opposite the side that had his name embroidered in blue. It was there that he received his tiny pinwheel badge, too. (Charlie had hit it off with the secretary and had managed to get a cheerful “ask me about proper hand washing technique,” clip to hold her badge to her coat.)

“What d’you think the attendings are going to be like?” Charlie whispered conspiratorially after they’d swiped themselves into the unit. Although they had already gone through the orientation process, been given all of their materials, and been instructed on where to go prior to their first day, they had yet to learn much about the doctors they’d be working with. They had been given the facts: the inpatient psychiatric ward - also known as the East Ward - at the hospital functioned on a short-term stabilization model, just as the wards Dean had previously worked on did, and had twelve beds on the particular part of the unit to which the two of them had been assigned for their first few months. The unit was run by two rotating attendings with one present throughout the day and had 24/7 nursing staff. It was all pretty standard issue and the order was something he could get used to. A second unit, referred to as the West Ward, was attached by a small corridor and was mainly kept as an outpatient clinic with fewer nurses and more attention from one of the doctors; he and Charlie would also be taking turns working in that particular area.

“Probably just like all of the other pediatricians we’ve ever met: either batshit insane or hopped up on whatever brand of happy heroin they give you when you get indoctrinated into the cult of peds.”

Charlie cuffed him on the shoulder and shot him an icy look that could have frozen him on the spot if they were playing Moondor and allowed to cast spells. Alas, such was _not_ the case and all her antics earned here were a poorly-stifled snort from a nurse in light blue scrubs behind the station.

“Can I help you with something?” drawled the nurse in a voice that said she would likely prefer _not_ to be of any help to anyone above the age of eighteen. She had fair skin and a soft round face framed by loose dark curls that had escaped from her ponytail, and had an expression that looked inviting enough were it not for her deep set chocolate eyes and finely arched brows that gave the impression that she had the ability to dig up dark secrets with enough careful scrutiny. Her plump pink lips tugged into a small grin as she took in both of their badges and cross-checked the information on her clipboard.

“Ah… You must be the new fellows: Doctors Charlie Bradbury and Dean Winchester?” 

Dean nodded once and Charlie waved in greeting. “That’s us,” she piped. He felt his skin crawl as the nurse stepped out from behind the station and allowed her eyes to rake up and down his frame. 

She stuck her hand out for a shake, first to his redheaded colleague and then to him. “Hi, I’m Meg. I’m a nurse. Head nurse, actually, but who’s counting? Welcome to the East Ward, and all that jazz. You two ‘ll be spending most of your time here with the attendings, Doctors Novak and Jardin.” She gestured with her head to an olive-skinned young woman typing away at a computer at the nurses’ station with brown wavy tresses, a heart-shaped face, and pointed features. “That little sprite’s Gilda.” The nurse lifted a hand to wave at them without taking her eyes off of her computer. “She tends to work with Dr. Jardin on West Ward business, so whichever of you is paired off with him will see a lot of her. I’m more of a free agent, but I’m usually around with Dr. Novak, so whoever’s working with him will be with me. He should be over here soon to meet you two; it’s been a bit busy this morning.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than a tall man with black mussed hair rounded the corner of the hallway, his white coat billowing behind him and a thick binder tucked under his arm. His pale angular jaw was shaded by stubble and his blue hooded eyes were darkened by the shadows characteristic of a man who didn’t get much sleep. His navy blue tie hung slightly crooked from the collar of his white dress shirt, but his black slacks were neatly pressed despite his somewhat disheveled appearance.

“Speak of the devil,” Meg muttered. “Good luck, recruits.” Without a backwards glance, she retreated to her position behind the nurses’ station.

“Good morning,” rumbled the man in a deep gravelly voice that didn’t quite match his exterior. “I apologize for being tardy; we had a new admission last night that I’ve been trying to catch up on before rounds. My name is Dr. Castiel Novak, and I prefer Dr. Novak.” He paused, looking from Dean to Charlie and taking in their appearances with a type of detached clinical examination that only belonged to a psychiatrist very well trained in his craft, his head tilted curiously to the side. It made Dean uncomfortable to be under such close examination so early in the morning, especially when he wasn’t paying for it, and he fidgeted where he stood; it was as if Dr. Novak could see deep into the recesses of his soul and read his mind, as corny as it sounded, and he wasn’t in the mood to allow that to happen.

“There’s not much time for talk right now, as I have to check on the patient. If you’d follow me, I was just about to go see him.” With that, he took off, dropping the binder at the station and automatically assuming that they would trail after him like ducklings, which, of course, they did. It wasn’t their first time in a new hospital, and they wouldn’t have to be told twice to obey the hierarchy.

Dean wasn’t becoming too fond of the doctor’s gruff demeanor, either. Dr. Novak hadn’t been at all what he’d been expecting, and he couldn’t tell whether or not that was going to shape up to be a good thing. Where most pediatricians were quick to plaster on the plastic grin reserved for meeting new residents and fellows, this guy hadn’t been afraid at all about taking charge and dragging them along with him. He was cold, aloof, and had the social skills of a peanut. If he acted like this towards his patients, Dean couldn’t see him being successful at all. 

He followed the doctor without complaint to a door labeled with a bold green number three at the end of the opposite hall from which Dr. Novak had come and abruptly stopped when he spun to face him, nearly running into Charlie who had been walking in front of him in the process.

Once he was sure he had Dean and Charlie’s attention, the doctor began rattling off the background medical information of the patient behind the door. Having not been able to take a look at the chart since he’d been swept up to follow the doctor, Dean listened carefully to the presentation. “The patient’s Andy Gallagher, male, age sixteen. He was admitted into the ED two nights ago with a carboxyhemoglobin level of eighteen percent; he had presented symptoms of headache, nausea, and had a syncopal episode. He received 100% oh-two via nonrebreather for six hours and, as symptoms resolved themselves, was transferred here. Tox evaluated him for hyperbarics and gave him their protocol of treatment. The account that came in with EMS was that he’d tried to commit suicide by carbon monoxide in his van, but I’d like to get his story when we interview him after rounds. His past medical history is pretty healthy, but he’s been diagnosed with depression by another physician and has a family history of mental illness. Now, when we go in, let me do all of the talking.” 

Dr. Novak didn’t ask whether or not his fellows had any questions before rapping gently on the door to the patient’s room with his knuckles, waiting for acknowledgement by the boy inside, and walking inside. The room had much of the same decor as the rest of the facility - cheerful colored linens and designs painted directly onto the cream walls - but, as Dean quickly scanned the area, he saw that it was quite obviously proofed against self-destructive behavior. The bed was low to the ground to prevent anything from being tied to it, the doors had protected knobs that didn’t allow anything to hang from them either, and the tops of the doors had pressure sensors. Although the bathroom door was closed, he could bet that the shower curtain was attached by velcro closures and that there weren’t any exposed rods. He’d seen a similar set-up in adult rooms, although the color scheme was a lot less pleasant and a lot more mint green.

Andy, the boy, lay in the center of the bed with his head propped up by a pillow. He had wavy brown hair and wide brown eyes that hungered for sleep but hadn’t been closed in days. Dr. Novak pulled a chair from the corner of the room over by the bed and sat down so that he was at eye level with his patient.

“Good morning, Andy,” he said, his voice much softer than it had been when he’d introduced himself to Dean and Charlie. “How are you feeling?” Had Dean not followed the man into the room just a minute ago, he would’ve thought that he’d been replaced by someone else on the walk over. Gone was the chilly professional exterior that he’d been presented with just moments prior. Now, the blue-eyed man actually seemed _personable_ and had a, dare he say it, _smile_ on his pale chapped lips.

“Like shit,” Andy grumbled, shifting on his bed like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to turn away from or towards the warm voice.

“I bet.” He huffed a laugh, the smile spreading on his face. “You probably didn’t get much sleep the past few nights. I’m Dr. Novak.” He extended his hand out in introduction and didn’t look slighted when it went unshaken. “These two behind me are Dr. Bradbury and Dr. Winchester; they’re the fellows on the unit, and you’ll probably see a bit of them over the course of your time here. I wanted to introduce myself to you before the team goes on morning rounds, and maybe get to know you a little better. What d’you say?”

Andy sat up on the bed and opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly shut it again. He looked like he couldn’t make up his mind on whether or not he should trust the doctor. Dean couldn’t blame him; the way Dr. Novak was sitting, leaning slightly forward as if he was open to hear what the boy had to say, but also holding a relaxed enough stance that showed he wouldn’t be upset if he refused to speak was refreshing, as if he wasn’t being forced to spill his secrets to a shrink, but was being invited to talk about his own experiences to a friend. He was fidgety, his fingers twisting in the corner of the blanket he had draped over his legs. “I…” he began, his voice tremulous. “I don’t really want to talk about that night, or at least not yet.”

Dr. Novak nodded once, but didn’t speak, leaving the air open. Dean recognized it as a method he’d been taught to employ to make the situation more comfortable, a way to leave the conversation in the hands of the patient and not of the physician.

“I was feeling lost, y’know?” Andy continued, shifting in the bed so that he was sitting straighter. “I mean, my brother, Ansem; we were twins. People said it was like we could read each other’s minds, or something stupid like that… like we were connected and could just tell each other what to do or what we wanted without talking. He…” Andy swallowed down a lump of tears that was forming in his throat, but Dr. Novak didn’t make any movement to make him stop or give him an excuse to escape; he stayed silent. “He got into a car accident a month ago; got hit by a drunk driver. I’ve felt pretty empty since then, without my brother. And, see, I’ve got this old van that he and I bought when we turned sixteen. We decorated it, made it ours… And I didn’t feel right, having it all to myself.” Andy had begun to shake, his eyes filling up with water as he gripped the blanket even tighter in his fists. 

At this point, Dr. Novak reached a hand to the boy’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Shh, Andy, it’s okay; you don’t have to-”

“No!” the boy interrupted, recoiling from the psychiatrist’s touch. “I _do_ have to, okay? _I do_! You don’t understand. Ansem wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t want me to go this way. _I_ don’t want to go this way. I-” Andy sniffed hard, the tears now pouring down his cheeks and the sobs wracking his body. “I need _help_.”

Dr. Novak rose to his feet, rubbing his hand in the center of the boy’s shoulder blades all the while. “The team and I will do the best we can, Andy. I’m glad you’re talking to me, and I’m glad you want to get better. Together, we can help you get through this, one step at a time.” He pulled a small pack of tissues from his pocket and offered one to the teen on the bed, who accepted it gratefully. “Now, Dr. Bradbury, Dr. Winchester, and I have to go report to rounds, but we’ll call in Nurse Masters and she’ll get you some breakfast and be here if you need anything, okay?”

Andy nodded, but didn’t say anything else as the three doctors left his room; he recoiled back into his bed, trembling violently beneath his blankets. As soon as the door shut, the previously cold and detached persona of Dr. Novak returned, his face losing its warmth and his back standing rigid. “I’m going to put in an order for some Ativan along with his morning meds and have Meg give it to him while I update his chart. He looks like he’s going to do okay, but I want to sedate him and maybe get a sitter in the room. As you’ll quickly learn,” his eyes darted to Dean, “the pediatric population is highly volatile in comparison to the adult population. Pediatric patients are less likely to give straightforward answers to your questions and have to be given the time to speak; children and teens are so used to being told what to do by adults that they need to know they can _trust_ you. That being said, you also have to take everything they say with a grain of salt. Mr. Gallagher may seem eager for help right now, but he was also hesitant to talk to us and hasn’t admitted much about the nature of his suicidality; who don’t know if he’s still experiencing suicidal thoughts - hence the Ativan and the sitter placement. Understood?” 

Without waiting for an affirmative nod from either of the fellows, he continued to the nursing station where he relayed his orders to Meg and began to rifle through his chart. “It’s time for rounds, so Dr. Jardin, the other attending on staff, will show you the unit.” He pulled a pen from his coat pocket, clicked it once and, before turning to write, gestured expansively with his hand and said, “Oh, and, welcome to the East Ward.”

In the time that they had taken to visit with the patient, a blond man had shown up at the nursing station and was leaning over the counter, deeply involved in a humorous one-sided conversation with the nurse Meg had introduced as Gilda. The white coat looked stiff on his frame, as if he would have been much more comfortable in something more casual, and he wore his lavender button-down shirt sans a tie; the top two buttons were undone, flashing the dip of his neck and a bit of his chest. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and his laugh was a boisterous and pretentious sound.

“Balthazar,” called Dr. Novak. “It’s time for rounds.” The man’s attention quickly shifted from the nurse who had obviously been uninterested in whatever it was he’d been droning on about and his smile refocused on the doctor who had called his name.

“Ah, Cassy,” he drawled, his voice marked by a smarmy British accent that grated on Dean’s nerves. “Are these the new fellows?” He sauntered over to where they stood, his hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

Dr. Novak nodded in the affirmative. “Balthazar, I’d like you to meet Dr. Bradbury and Dr. Winchester.” He pointed to each individual respectively with the end of his pen. To them, he said, “This is Dr. Jardin, the other attending on this ward. He works a few shifts with the outpatients on the West Ward every now and then, but he spends most of his time here. Dr. Bradbury is scheduled to spend the first rotation with him, and Dr. Winchester, you will be here with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish up this chart. We’ll meet up to discuss the workload for the rest of the week and I’ll give you your new pagers after rounds.” With that, he took the thick binder labeled “3 - Andy G” under his arm and disappeared down the hallway into the joint office for the doctors on the ward.

“Welcome to the unit; feel free to call me Balthazar,” said Dr. Jardin. “And I apologize for my partner’s attitude. If you’d believe it, his people skills were actually worse in med school; this is him trying to be _friendly_. What’re both of your first names, if you don’t mind my calling you by them?” 

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Bradbury. Dr. Novak said we’ll be paired for the first rotation.” She stepped forward and gave him a firm handshake.

Balthazar raised a single curious eyebrow, a small grin tugging at his features. “Assertiveness is admirable in a woman these days, especially in this field.” Dean was sure he was trying at a compliment, but to him, the words just came out as skeevy. He hoped Charlie wouldn’t be too caught up with the British man and was almost happy that his friend had no interest in men; he wouldn’t have to give the doctor the ‘you hurt my friend and I feed your intestines to the neighborhood dog’ speech. Surprisingly enough, the redhead actually looked pleased with herself, as if the praise had lifted her spirits. He scowled and sulked, his hands in his coat pocket.

“And you are?” asked Balthazar.

He didn’t give him the satisfaction of shaking his hand, but returned his question with a quick, “Dean Winchester.” 

Dr. Jardin nodded once, as if that answer held the answer to all of his problems. “Cheers, Dean. Since you’ll be working with Cassy for the first rotation, a word of advice, yeah? If it seems like he’s picking on you, don’t take it personally. He’s like that to everyone at first; if he ignores you, then _that’s_ how you know he doesn’t like you.” It was true that Dean had begun to feel the brunt of Dr. Novak’s abrasiveness, especially with how he directed most of his comments towards him with his gruff voice. He’d started to think that maybe this job wasn’t going to be as good as he had thought it out to be. Working with a crazily protective pediatrician would have been better than suffering under someone who hated him. Hopefully, Dr. Jardin was right. If not and he was cursed to spend the next two years of his life with a frigid man who seemed to be carved from stone one minute and fatherly the next, he’d have to start keeping a tally on how many days he had left or he wouldn’t survive.

Rounds went well as Balthazar took them on a quick tour of the unit, showing them where all of the patients that were currently checked in were living - he gave them information on the patients’ care plan and how they had done the previous night - the room where individual interviews in front of the nurses and doctors were held, and the parts of the ward that were reserved for group therapy sessions. Some of the patients that had already had breakfast and received their medications from the nurses on staff were lounging in the recreational area, either watching television, flipping through books and magazines, or playing with toys. Dean was introduced to all of the patients whose primary caregiver on the unit was Dr. Novak so that he could put faces to the names he would eventually read about in the charts. He had to make these kids trust him as much as they trusted their main doctor if he was going to give them the best care they deserved and prove to his attending that he was capable of doing the work at the same time.

After rounds, they were brought to the joint office where Dr. Novak sat with a pile of three binders, the chart belonging to Andy Gallagher spread in front of him on his desk. “I trust rounds were informational?”

Balthazar collapsed on a spinning desk chair, rotating so that he was facing the group. “They were splendid; all patients are well and accounted for. I’m going to keep them on the same plan they had last night, as it looks like no one’s been reacting poorly to treatment. Dean here met Jake and Scott in the rec room, and I brought him to Max’s room. Max hasn’t been responding as well to group as I’d like and tends to keep himself isolated from the rest of the boys, but I think he just needs some more time. He’s been responding well to meds and individual therapy, so maybe he just needs to integrate himself on his own terms.”

“He needs to feel like he can trust the other boys before he’ll respond to group,” added Dean. “If you try to put him in a room of other guys, especially other guys with personalities like Jake and Scott, he’s going to either clam up or lash out.” He hadn’t read any of the background on the boy yet, but from what he information he did get during rounds, his mental illness had been aggravated by a poor life at home; he had finger-shaped bruises on his arms that he certainly hadn’t acquired at the hospital.

“That’s an awfully astute observation,” Dr. Novak commented, pulling the three binders from where they lay on his desk. “Especially since you haven’t yet read any of their charts. I suggest you catch up on these before you leave today and then refresh yourself on what I added to Andy’s chart.”

Balthazar, sensing a growing tension in the room, slapped his hands on his thighs and brought himself to a standing position. “Well, it seems as if you two have got everything settled in here. Dr. Bradbury, if you’ll follow me, I’d like to show you the West Ward.” He grabbed a pager from his desk and held it out to Charlie as he ushered her out the door. She mouthed, “good luck,” to Dean before stepping out with the British doctor. Damn her for leaving him alone with the one man in the hospital who was making it clear that he hated him.

“I didn’t mean to analyze the kid without his background info. I just tried to put two and two together from what Balthazar - er, Dr. Jardin - told us during rounds. I saw some patients like him at my last job.” He grit the justification for his actions through his teeth; he couldn’t believe he was actually stepping down to this guy, but if Balthazar was right, keeping his cool and avoiding conflict was going to be his only way of surviving. Dr. Novak didn’t hate him _yet_ ; he was just a dick who didn’t know how to deal with people who weren’t his patients and Dean didn’t want to get on his bad side before his first day was even over.

“No, that’s quite alright. Your statement wasn’t entirely unfounded. I’m sure you noticed the obvious signs of abuse on his arms and the way he secludes himself from the others; it doesn’t take a child psychiatrist to figure that out, although I’d appreciate it if you learned to keep in mind that your patients are now _children_ and are therefore much different from anything else you’ve worked with.”

Dean swallowed down the snappy retort that threatened to crawl out of his throat. _Deep breaths, Winchester. He’s your attending and you’ve got to listen to him._

Dr. Novak rummaged through a pile of things on his desk before unearthing a new pager and holding it out to him. “Here; you’ll be needing this. You’re on call with me tonight, and will be for the rest of the week. In fact, you’ll probably be on call for most of the rotation, since Dr. Bradbury will be working with the outpatients more often than she’ll be here.”

“Excuse me?” Dean squawked, affixing the pager to his belt, but not without voicing his indignation. He hadn’t been on call that much since his intern year, after which he learned that most of the time, the nurses dealt with overnight admissions. Certainly Meg could handle things by herself; she looked to keep a pretty tight ship with her staff. Why was Dr. Novak treating him like a resident fresh out of med school?

The blue-eyed man fixed him with a cold stare like he was a frog pinned to a dissection board. “Is that going to be a problem, Dr. Winchester?”

“N-no,” Dean stammered, quickly regaining his composure. It’s not like he had anything else to do other than, y’know, have a _life_ , but it wasn’t like he was about to admit that to his superior.

“Good,” Dr. Novak snapped. “I had been led to believe that you would be prepared for the workload, coming fresh out of adult psych. I wouldn’t want to be proven wrong.”

Where the hell did this guy think he was coming from? If anyone knew how to work hard, it was Dean. Having had to deal with his father’s expectations throughout his life, he had pushed himself through high school and college to get into the best possible programs. He had spent countless nights with his organic chemistry textbook, memorizing reagents and mechanisms and the differences between enantiomers and diastereomers. He had eaten his fair share of lunches in the elevator during medical school and residency to capitalize on time between lectures and studying. Who cared if Dr. Novak had more clinical experience than he did? He had done his part to get himself where he was and he wasn’t about to step down because some asshole with an inflated ego wanted him to crack. If he was on call and got paged in, then he’d damn well come in to work without a complaint.

“Trust me.” Dean grabbed the charts for his patients and sat down at one of the empty desks to read them. “You won’t be.”

\---

“Can you even believe the asshole?” Dean exclaimed, scandalized, through a mouth half-full with ground beef and bacon. Thank _fuck_ for greasy burgers, beer, and pie after work; with a first day like he’d had so far with Dr. Castiel Novak, he was probably going to need a _lot_ of therapy food of the next couple of years. Luckily for him, the hospital wasn’t far from where he’d been calling home for the majority of his adult life and was a short drive from The Roadhouse, a diner owned by good family friends, Bobby and Ellen. He’d spent many an afternoon during his high school years working in Bobby Singer’s auto shop - his father had always preached about the value of a hard-earned dollar - in order to wait out the reward of one of Ellen Harvelle’s pies. By the time he’d started college, Ellen and Bobby had stopped beating around the bush and gotten married. It only made sense to Dean, as Bobby and Ellen had always felt like surrogate parents to him and his brother. Jo, Ellen’s feisty blonde daughter, was a few years younger than Dean and was working her way through graduate school in forensic science. He didn’t see her as frequently lately as he had growing up since they were both busy with their burgeoning careers, but every now and then, he could find her at The Roadhouse for a quality bitch fest.

“Is he really that bad?” Jo asked, stealing a french fry off of his plate. She sat perched next to Charlie in a leather booth against the wall, and her eyes sparkled with her interest in their juicy gossip.

“He really puts the ‘ass’ in ‘Castiel,’ that’s for sure.” Dean grabbed a handful of fries between his fingers and dunked them in his ketchup container before stuffing them in his mouth.

Charlie shot him a look of disapproval that he swiftly ignored. “He’s over-exaggerating; his social skills might need a little bit of work, but I’m sure underneath it all, he’s really nice. You should’ve seen him with the kids.”

Dean stared at the redhead, a flabbergasted expression plastered across his face. “Says you!” He waved an accusatory french fry. “You don’t have to deal with him nonstop for the next couple of months, and you’re not on call for the next week!”

Jo stole another fry from his plate, munching quite contently; it was as if she had gotten a free show at the local movie parlor. 

“Chill out, princess. It’s not like you haven’t worked worse hours before.” Charlie took a large bite from her burger. She, unlike Dean, made an effort to maintain civilized eating habits and wouldn’t talk with her mouth full, so she considered the conversation effectively over.

“Yeah, but I’m not an intern anymore. I’m not going to let him treat me like his little bitch just because he thinks fellows are glorified slave labor. It’s like he’s made it his personal mission to make my life hell.”

Charlie rolled her eyes and set her burger on her plate; he was impossible.

“Tell me more about this Dr. Novak guy,” said Jo, steering the conversation away from how terrible he was to work with to something more palatable. “What’s he look like?”

At this, Dean became silent. He was fully invested in hating the guy and talking about his looks would make that a little bit more difficult. Dr. Novak had given off serious silent and brooding vibes - that is, before he opened his mouth - and was, to be honest, quite easy to look at. Dean was an equal-opportunity connoisseur of beautiful people and the fact that the doctor was male was not a detractor. No, what was a true turn-off was his attitude. With his dark messy hair, clear blue eyes, and tall, lean build, Dean had to admit that he as attractive, and that was just _wrong_. He was a prick above all pricks, had no sense of how to interact with colleagues, and was set to ruin the rest of his life. He wasn’t allowed to be good-looking.

“He’s dreamy,” answered Charlie, not missing the slight flush that spread across Dean’s cheeks at her words. “Serious romance novel cover material.”

“Ooh, tell me more,” Jo crooned. “Is he single?”

“I didn’t catch a wedding ring on his finger,” replied Charlie. “But you never know with doctors. Some take theirs off during work so they don’t get snagged on gloves.”

Dean let his burger fall back to his plate. “Will you two quit it? You’re going to make me lose my dinner.”

“Is someone jealous?” asked Jo, a teasing grin on her face.

Dean didn’t respond, sulking at his dinner. No, he wasn’t jealous. Charlie wasn’t interested in men and he doubted Dr. Novak and Jo would ever meet. Not that their meeting would make him jealous, no sir. He had no stake over either of their love life and if they somehow ran into each other in the hospital - why Jo would be at a children’s hospital, he wouldn’t ask - and fell into the throes of fiery passion on a cot in a lounge somewhere… Dean cleared his throat and scooped up a french fry, popping it into his mouth. He was _not_ thinking about what added up to his supervisor and what was effectively his little sister having sex at his place of employment. 

“Joanna Beth, will you leave those two alone?” Ellen popped up at the head of their table with a pitcher of beer to refill their pint glasses, but Dean held his hand over the top of his; he had to be able to drive on the off chance that his pager would go off. Charlie, who didn’t have to report back to work until the next morning, happily allowed Ellen to top off her glass. 

“And miss out on this gossip? No way in hell,” said Jo, stealing a sip of beer from Charlie’s full glass. The mooch.

“I’m glad you take pleasure from my pain, you sadist,” grumbled Dean. To Ellen, he said, “Any sight of Bobby?”

Ellen shook her head and rested a hand on her hip. “He and Rufus are still at the shop; said they had one more job to finish before calling it quits for the night.”

“If he comes in and I’m not around, tell him he owes me a game of pool to make up for last weekend.”

“Will do, champ,” said Ellen, and with that, she retreated back behind the bar counter.

“So if this doctor is such an _angel_ to work with, what’re you gonna do?” Jo absently twirled a blonde curl around her finger.

Dean shrugged, returning to his meal. “Deal with it, I guess. There’s not much I _can_ do, other than count down to when Charlie and I get to switch and hope _that_ doesn’t suck.” To be honest, he wasn’t too optimistic that working with Dr. Jardin would be any better. Although he had tried to be approachable, the British bastard just seemed to ooze sleaze from every pore; he wouldn’t be surprised if he had charmed his way into the pants of the entire nursing staff by this point. Well, maybe not Meg; judging by his impression of her from earlier in the day, she’d probably eat Balthazar alive. There was that one nurse, Gilda, who hadn’t looked too interested in his attempts at picking her up, either. Dean would have to ask Charlie more about that, maybe do some recon into the nurse culture on the ward.

“Oh, shut up. Balthazar was nothing but nice to us.”

“You can’t tell me he doesn’t give you the heebs and or jeebs.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Balthazar is a _great guy_. He’s smart and really cares about his patients. And come on. Today was just the first day. Who knows? Maybe you and Dr. Novak ‘ll get along.” She offered him a small smile and reached across the table to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Maybe she was right. Maybe if Dean learned to swallow down some of his pride, he and Dr. Novak would be able to work well together. From his interaction with his first patient, Dean was sure he had a lot to learn about child psychiatry from him. The man was obviously good at what he did, even if he wasn’t good with talking to people.

Dean picked up his burger to take another bite, but was interrupted by a loud beeping sound from by his hip. _Fuck_. And he had thought that tonight was going to be easy…

Dean pulled his pager from his belt and read the tiny screen, a frown growing on his face as he clipped the device back on his waist. “Speak of the devil. Looks like I’ve gotta head in. New admission.”

“Good luck!” called Charlie over her shoulder. Jo shifted to the other side of the table to claim Dean’s abandoned french fries.

“Thanks,” he said. Although he wasn’t eager to see Dr. Novak again, he was looking forward to find out what it was like to work on the unit under actual stressful conditions. Although it was the job of the emergency room staff to stabilize the patient before admitting him into the hospital, it would still be quite a rush to get the preliminary details set in the chart and set up an early game plan for the next day.

\---

The hospital wasn’t far from the diner, so it didn’t take Dean all that long to get up to the East Ward. He stopped to take a deep breath, shaking off all of the nerves and negativity that had clung to him like a second skin from the morning. It was time to do his _job_ , not deal with some petty bullshit from an aloof attending. He was supposed to be helping children, and help them he would, damn it. He had applied to this fellowship program to learn something, to expand upon his career and expose him to another aspect of psychiatric medicine. Who knew? Maybe Dr. Novak really did have a thing or two to teach him. Even if he was committed to treating him like crap, at least Dean would get some valuable experience.

Releasing the breath, Dean swiped his badge and hurried into the unit, scanning the floor for the doctor who had paged him. 

At this time of night, the ward looked practically empty. Most of the kids had retreated to their rooms to sleep or catch up on some private time and the few nurses on staff were fresh faces Dean hadn’t seen before; Meg and Gilda must have gone home and been relieved by those on the later shift. 

Dr. Novak stood by the nurses’ station, writing furiously into a new black binder. If it were possible, the man looked even more disheveled. His tie had been abandoned at some point during the day and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. His coat, too, had been left in the office and his name badge was clipped to his shirt pocket. The stubble on his face had grown darker and his hair stuck up in all sorts of directions, as if he had been consistently running his hands through it for hours. Had he even gone home? Judging by his appearance, Dean doubted if the doctor had even stopped to eat something.

“Hello, Dr. Winchester,” said Dr. Novak from his position, not pausing in his writing to lift his head and acknowledge the fellow.

So, that was how it was going to be. Brilliant. “Good evening,” greeted Dean, taking his post beside the man and leaning against the counter. From this close, he could see that the blue-eyed man’s skin was paler than it had been when he met him earlier, and his handwriting was far more harried and less neat, as if his hand had picked up a slight tremor and was jostling the pen on the paper. Not only did Dr. Novak look tired and unkempt, he looked downright uncomfortable. Dean swallowed down a knot of nerves that had lodged itself in his throat; what sort of call could make a psychiatrist edgy? They dealt with all sorts of shit on the daily and were supposed to keep their cool under stress, but here he was, showing the first signs of cracking on what had seemed to be an impenetrable chassis. But what was he doing _worrying_ about Dr. Novak? Although he only looked to be a few years older than him and hadn’t been out of fellowship for that much longer, he’d had a couple of extra years of experience that should make all calls feel rather routine. “What’re we looking at for tonight?” he asked, forcing his mind to reel itself back in and redirect himself onto the reason why he’d been called in for work.

Dr. Novak stopped his writing and set down his pen, releasing a deep breath. “I got off the phone with the ED just before you got here. They’ve got a seventeen year old girl, Marin Hobbes, with a superficial right neck laceration from an attempted suicide that’s been sutured and bandaged; father found her in the kitchen, bloody and with a knife in her fist. She’s got old burn scars on her left thigh and forearm, as well as on her left abdomen. Scan shows no broken bones and no visible bruising, so we might be able to rule out abuse, but you can never be too careful. I found some records on the computer that she has from West Ward; turns out she saw a psychiatrist,” he paused to flip through the sheets that he’d been writing in, “a year ago, after a house fire that killed her mother. It was presumed to be arson, but the culprit was never found. Her doctor diagnosed her with major depressive disorder and borderline tendencies, but there was little follow-up other than a script and a few therapy sessions.”

Dean felt an invisible claw clench around his heart, sucking all of the air out of his lungs, upon hearing how the girl lost her mother. The story hit far too close to home, triggering memories that he had long since tried to shut away; memories of flames flickering in front of his eyes, suffocating heat on his skin, cloying scent of smoke in his nostrils, shrill screams in his ears… 

He couldn’t let the memories get to him, especially since the patient was going to be admitted into their unit for the next few days. He had to be strong in front of her and help her deal with her own issues; her therapy was not about him. 

“What’s the plan on our end?” Dean asked.

Dr. Novak didn’t appear to be paying attention. He was staring absently at the chart, his hand hovering over his records. His pen lay abandoned on the paper, his last sentence unfinished. He looked to be miles away from the hospital at that moment, his eyes nearly twenty years younger, frightened. Frightened of what?

“Dr. Novak?” Dean nudged the man in the elbow. The doctor started, nearly jumping, and cleared his throat, as if ashamed to be caught in whatever reverie he had disappeared off to.

“Right. Our goal for tonight is to make sure she’s medically stable and calm. We’ll go over a more concrete plan of action in the morning after we’ve rounded and interviewed her. Can you get a sitter on the line to make sure she has one-to-one for the night?”

“You’ve got it.” Dean swung to the other side of the nurses’ station and took a seat by one of the computers. He had yet to get acquainted with the system and he hadn’t been expecting to be making calls so early in his rotation, but he shuffled through the phone directory until he found a number for the technicians on staff overnight. He plucked a phone receiver from the desk and dialed the line, keeping Dr. Novak in his peripheral vision. Honestly, what was wrong with the guy? It was like he had fifteen different personalities himself: asshole doctor by day, nervous wreck by night. As soon as he had gotten to work, though, the dark haired man had also begun to shuffle around, finishing up his note in the chart and disappearing into the med closet to replenish whatever it is the girl would be coming on from the emergency department. Dean just hoped he’d get whatever had come over him together by the time the patient showed up.

Within a couple of hours, two nurses and a sitter from the emergency department swiped themselves into the unit with a stretcher in tow. On the stretcher lay a girl with fair skin and wavy chestnut hair spread on the pillow beneath her head like a halo. Her blue eyes were open and awake, but, like many of the other children on this ward, they were tired and haunted, eyes that had seen far too much in their few years. She had a large white bandage on the left side of her neck and had already changed into the hospital-issued white scrubs provided for inpatients; Dean really hoped that she wouldn’t have to wear them for that long. She was a beautiful young woman with a light dusting of freckles on her face and full pink lips; he wanted her to be wearing a gown at her senior prom or a uniform for a school sports team.

Dr. Novak met the nurses at the entrance to the ward and guided them towards one of the empty beds on the floor while Dean followed the entourage into the room to make sure the girl was settled. Together with the nurses, Dr. Novak helped the girl into her new bed, transferring the IV pole from the stretcher to her bed and hanging the new bags he had fetched from the med closet on the empty hooks. Once the nurses left, he took a seat by her bed.

“Hi, Marin,” he said, his voice taking on the warm softness it had when he had met with Andy earlier in the day. “How are you feeling?”

The girl didn’t respond, and instead turned her head so that she was facing in the opposite direction.

Dr. Novak nodded once, staring at his hands folded in his lap. “Stupid question, I get it; fair enough.” A faint ghost of a smile flickered on the corner of her lips. “I’m Dr. Novak, and this is Dr. Winchester. You’ll be seeing a lot of us over the next few days. For now, though, why don’t you try and get a good night’s rest, okay? We’ll have someone in here with you in case you need anything. How does that sound?”

She made a noncommittal sound and turned further into her pillow, but he was going to count the small grin as a victory. “Good night, Marin.”

Outside of her room, Dr. Novak instructed the sitter to keep an eye on her meds, call a nurse over if they needed to be changed, and to also page a nurse if he needed to be relieved; Marin was to be on constant one-to-one supervision over night, as much as she would probably dislike it. Once that was taken care of, the doctor resumed his position by nurses’ station and picked up his pen to finish charting. The paperwork was one thing Dean hadn’t been too keen on once starting medical school, but he recognized it as a necessary evil. Although some doctors made sure to chart everything they did in order to ensure proper billing, it was also required to track down the care that a patient received so as to refrain from any lapses or oversights in care. From what he could tell from the charts he had read earlier in the day, Dr. Novak was more than thorough with his notes, and he was likely going to be there for quite some time. He pulled a small notepad from his lab coat pocket and took down his own notes on Marin’s admission to that he wouldn’t have to rely on the chart and would be able to have his own independence as he progressed throughout the fellowship; the ghost notes were a way to stretch his muscles when it came to medicine and had always been required of him through residency. Maybe Dr. Novak would be pleased to see the quality of his notes when they rounded together in the morning, but it’s not like Dean _cared_ or anything. What did it matter what the priss of a doctor thought?

They wrote their notes together in companionable silence, stopping for the night when Dr. Novak closed the chart and put it away. Surprisingly enough, the night had gone by without any snarky remarks from either of them and Dean prided himself on having refrained from being rude to his superior. Then again, Dr. Novak had actually been, dare he say it, _pleasant_ to be around that night. He hadn’t tried to challenge him or force unnecessary grunt work on him. Their responsibility with the new admission had been relatively light, but the fact of the matter was that they actually worked seamlessly together, organizing the admission without any missteps. Maybe Charlie was right; maybe things would work out well.

“Is there anything else you’d have me do?” asked Dean, silently hoping the answer was no. It was getting pretty late, and he still had to call his brother before he went to bed; he’d promised to tell Sammy all about his first day at his new job and had been planning on calling after dinner before he’d been paged into the hospital.

“No, that will be all. Thank you for coming in, Dr. Winchester.”

Dean grinned, relieved that he was able to go home, and a little proud of himself for receiving praise on his first day. “It’s not a problem, Dr. Novak. It’s my job.” He pocketed his notepad in his lab coat and turned to leave. “Good night.”

“Dr. Winchester.” Dr. Novak fidgeted slightly by the nurses’ station, absently tugging at his shirt cuff. “Before you leave, a moment?”

Dean’s face fell, but he returned to the station, swallowing down any comments that threatened to hop off of the tip of his tongue. What could he possibly want? He’d thought they’d done well together; hadn’t the doctor thanked him for his work? A slow simmering anger began to heat its way through his veins. He was beyond tired and starting to feel the hunger pangs that came with not finishing one’s dinner and he didn’t want to start a fight. He wanted to go home, pop open a beer, make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and call Sam. 

Dr. Novak didn’t appear to be willing to look at him in the face, somewhat hesitant, but once he made eye contact, his resolve was firm. Dean was struck by just how blue the man’s eyes were; it was a shame his personality didn’t always fit with how attractive he was. “I was just thinking… We’re going to be working a lot together, so I’d prefer it if you called me Castiel.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to make with that request, especially since the doctor had been so adamant at first to refer to everyone by their title, but he wasn’t going to reject what seemed to be his pathetic attempt at an olive branch. He grinned, a small half-smirk, and said, “Then call me Dean.”

Castiel smiled as well, accentuating the crow’s feet by the corners of his eyes. “Good night, Dean,” he said, trying out the word to see how it tasted on his tongue.

“Night, Cas.” Dean turned once again to leave, but was stopped by a gentle touch on his elbow.

“What was that?” he asked, flustered, a pale pink flush coloring his cheeks.

“Cas? I’m sorry; if you don’t like it, I can stick to Casti-”

Castiel interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “No, no, it’s fine; it’s just that no one’s ever called me that before.” His smile grew, if that were possible. “I like it.”

—

Dean tossed his keys on his kitchen counter and shrugged his white lab coat off of his shoulders before draping it on the back of one of his chairs. He never thought he’d be this pleased to return home to his apartment, but a long day at work tended to do that to people. He couldn’t get the new admission, Marin, off of his mind, kept seeing the haunted look on her face every time he closed his eyes, kept thinking about how she, too, had had her mother stolen away from her by angry hot flames that weren’t choosy about their victims. He raked his fingers through his hair, hoping to erase the thoughts from his mind, at least for the time being. There was nothing he could currently do from his home; he had to wait to see her in the morning and figure out a plan of action for her treatment with the rest of the team, and if he wasn’t well rested, then he’d be far from helpful.

His apartment was small and utilitarian, lightly furnished with everything a young bachelor his age would need. The kitchen housed a few small appliances - toaster, coffee machine, fancy automatic mixer Sammy gave him when he moved in - arranged neatly on the cream countertops and the dark espresso wood of the cabinets was reflected in the color of the kitchen table and chairs. The sofas in his living room were also a dark brown, and tucked into the corner of the space was a modest-sized television for the few occasions that he actually had time to relax; his laptop lay nestled amongst medical school textbooks on his coffee table. The apartment had a single bedroom, which housed what was perhaps his most extravagant piece of furniture. One thing that Dean had been adamant about when filling the space that was going to be his home during his time at school and beyond was that he have a comfortable bed. The bed’s frame was simple - a platform bed made of the same dark wood motif that was seen in all rooms of the apartment - but the mattress was a large queen made of memory foam that was heaven to sink into.

He unbuttoned his shirt while he walked through his living room, to his bedroom, and into the adjoined bathroom. A hot shower was just what his muscles had ordered, and he eagerly awaited the hot spray on his skin; he stripped off his clothes and turned on the shower, allowing the water to heat up to the desired temperature before stepping in. He closed his eyes, allowing the water to cascade down his face and shoulders, the droplets coursing down his body and chasing away the remnants of his work that dared to cling to him. That was the one thing about psychiatry that Dean always had trouble with: leaving his patients at the hospital. As much as he tried not to, he always found himself becoming emotionally attached to his patients. He wanted to see them get better and was personally wounded when they did not.

From the way Dr. Novak - Castiel, as he’d now made it clear Dean was allowed to call him - acted in the early moments of the admission of the new patient, it seemed as if the blue-eyed man wasn’t nearly as stoic as his first impression had made him out to be. Although he had acted aloof and distant that morning, the look on his face when the orders from the emergency department came in was that of a frightened animal. There must be _some_ reason why he was so shaken, some story that he wasn’t offering up. Dean wasn’t going to push it, though; he had his own skeletons that he kept locked up deep in his closet, thank you very much, and wasn’t about to air them out any time soon. Even though the two doctors had made some sort of breakthrough in their partnership that night, he was going to keep it at just that: a professional partnership that he wasn’t going to cross. He rinsed off the last of the soap and shut off the tap before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his hips. He finished drying himself off before slipping into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a form-fitting grey t-shirt that clung to him like a second skin.

Dean fished for his cell phone from his pants pocket and hopped into bed. He set an alarm for the next morning and, checking the time to make sure it wasn’t some ungodly hour in the morning - which, thankfully, it wasn’t - he punched the speed dial for his little brother.

Having a career in medicine had its benefits, such as the warm feeling of accomplishment Dean had in his chest whenever he helped a patient, but it wasn’t without its sacrifices. Medical school had been, at the time, the four most difficult years of his life. He had spent more hours than he had ever thought possible reading his textbooks and rotating through different departments of various hospitals, memorizing how medicine worked in theory while trying to reconcile his knowledge with the way doctors actually practiced. He hadn’t thought it could get any more difficult, but that had been before he had matched for his residency. Thanks to labor laws, residents were no longer allowed to be treated as glorified slaves, but that didn’t make it any easier. He just barely escaped pimping sessions from older attendings unscathed and was glad that Charlie, too, had matched at the same residency program and been assigned as his teammate. Without her, he wasn’t sure he would have even considered extending the trainee lifestyle by a few more years and applying to this fellowship. 

With all of the time Dean had to devote to his work, he found it difficult to maintain his relationship with his brother. He cared for him beyond a doubt, but between medical school and law school, their schedules so rarely lined up that their main way of communication lie in a few text messages shot back and forth and as many phone conversations that they could squeeze in. He had made the promise to call at least once a week, though, and even though his body was weighted down by exhaustion, he wasn’t going to skimp out on his word just yet.

“Dean?” came a sleepy voice from the other line of the phone.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean’s lips split into a wide grin at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, it’s alright.”

He could hear the sound of covers being shuffled around, of his brother’s gargantuan feet tip-toeing across the wood of his bedroom floor, and the _snick_ of a door being closed. Sam had probably been in bed and was stepping out to avoid waking up his wife.

His _wife_. _That_ was something that Dean was never going to get used to. Sam had met Jess, an assertive young woman with defiant blonde curls, a sharp wit, and a no-nonsense attitude, during his years at Stanford and had never looked back. The thought of his brother slipping into a comfortable slice of suburbia with his law degree, wife, and white-picket fence made him feel a sense of pride. He, on the other hand, was accustomed to living the life of the incorrigible bachelor. Not only was he inherently terrible at the whole relationship thing, but he also had very little time to spend nurturing something so fragile as a partnership with someone. Aside from Charlie and Jo, he had few female friends, and he hadn’t followed the footsteps of many of his classmates and fallen in love with his anatomy partner, Victor. He hadn’t been detracted by the fact that he was a man, because, truth be told, Dean wasn’t particularly picky with the parts of his sexual partners, but the two were better off as close friends. Victor had ended up in a surgical residency on the east coast after their years in medical school, and it certainly was true that surgeons were of a different breed.

“How was your first day?” asked Sam.

“It wasn’t half bad,” replied Dean, his voice colored with slight dishonesty. Knowing full well that Sam wasn’t going to let any white lie slip, he quickly continued, “It started off kind of rough, but ended up okay. I’m on call practically every night for the foreseeable future and got paged in tonight.”

Sam hissed through his teeth, wincing in empathy for his older brother’s plight. “On call for that long? Isn’t fellowship supposed to be less grunt work than residency?”

“Try telling that to my attending,” Dean scoffed. 

“Jackass?”

“That’s putting it lightly. He’s like a machine. Put him in a room with patients and he’s fine, but try to get him to actually deal with other people, and he goes straight Vulcan on you.”

Sam’s laugh echoed over the other line. “He can’t be _that_ bad.”

“I’m serious! The guy’s everything you’d ever want in a shrink, but he can’t talk to grown-ups without coming across as a right bastard; he’s got a stick wedged so far up his ass that-”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam chided.

“Sorry to offend your girlish sensibilities, _Samantha_.” Dean rolled his eyes, despite the fact that his brother couldn’t see the gesture. “He was actually kind of okay when we were on call together, though. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to be braiding each other’s hair and telling ghost stories by the campfire any time soon, but at least we’ll be able to work together without things getting ugly.” And that’s all that really mattered. Dean wasn’t in training to make friends; he was there to learn.

Sam sighed in a way that said he was displeased with his attitude, but would accept his attempt at trying to remain civil with his attending; Dean could bet he was sporting one of his trademarked bitch faces, this one saying something along the lines of ‘ _you can be a major dick sometimes, but you’re my brother and I have to accept you_.’ Whatever. He could deal with it.

“So tell me about your life, man. How’re things going on the home front?”

Sam wasn’t amused by Dean’s attempt at changing the conversation, but responded to the question regardless. “It’s great, really. Things have been going well at the firm, and since Jess is on summer break, we were thinking about taking a little trip soon; y’know, just a little weekend getaway to ourselves.”

Dean whistled long and low.

“God, Dean, grow up.”

Dean laughed quietly and closed his eyes, resting his head against his pillow. He allowed the comfortable silence to build between them, just glad to hear his snot-nosed kid brother on the other line. Sammy was his support network, always there for him when he needed him. When Sam had stood up to their father and said that he wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps and go into medicine, that he preferred law, Dean had had to stand up and defend him, although he didn’t do so well enough. Dean was supposed to be John’s perfect little protégé - both Winchester boys were - and he had been scared to deviate from the plan. He had allowed John to get away with saying some things to his younger brother that he probably shouldn’t have, things that were never meant from the heart, things said in the heat of the moment, but that stung nonetheless and were impossible to reel back in. Instead, Dean tried to be there for Sammy when John wasn’t around, when he wasn’t there to challenge their decisions and force his youngest boy to see eye to eye with him. He’d encouraged Sam to follow what it was he wanted to do, even when he didn’t follow his own advice. After John’s death, it had been Sam who urged _him_ to go into psychiatry, to put his scalpel down and work to match into a residency program that he actually _wanted_ to be in.

Sam cleared his throat, jarring Dean back into the present. “Y’know, man, I really miss you; Jess and I both.”

Dean groaned, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his face into the pillow. “Sam-”

“Dean, please. Just listen for a second, okay?”

Dean remained silent in response.

“You should come out to dinner with us, me and Jess, before we go on vacation. I know you’re busy and all, especially with the new placement, but d’you think you could make some time this weekend? Maybe dinner Friday night?”

Dean’s struggled to swallow down the knot of emotion that had lodged itself in his throat. Having Sammy ask, hell, _plead_ like that to spend some time with his big brother… it hurt. It hurt to have to budget time between work and family. Maybe, just maybe, once he finished his fellowship, he’d be able to open up practice somewhere or choose his hours so he’d be able to devote more time to what really mattered to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his job - he loved practicing medicine - but when he was lucky to see his kid brother every couple of weeks, he started to feel the burnout, and he was far too young in his career to put up with _that_.

“ ‘Course, Sammy,” replied Dean, voice thick. “Friday’s awesome.”

“Great! Well, Dean, I should probably head back to bed; it was nice chatting with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, go back and cuddle up to your wife. See you Saturday.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Jerk.”

Dean grinned. “Bitch.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Let me get this straight,” said Charlie. “You _don’t_ hate him anymore?”

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed a copy of the morning paper form the stand by the register. Gabriel stood behind the counter, smirking as he plucked a carton cup from the stack by the espresso machine and began scribbling the other man’s usual order on the side. The boy from the day before, Samandriel, had his headphones in; his head bobbed to the beat of whatever music it was he was listening to and he took the cup from the shop’s owner as he passed it to him. 

“Morning, Gabe,” Dean greeted, ignoring Charlie’s question and pulling out the money needed to pay for the paper and the coffee. 

Gabriel returned the greeting and took a second cup to mark with the redhead’s order, also passing it to the teenaged barista to work on once he finished his current task. “Who don’t we hate anymore?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “My attending. He was kind of an asshole when we started, but when we were on call together…” He shrugged his shoulders. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“See? I _told_ you it would be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean grumbled.

“What happened last night? Please tell me you didn’t _do anything_.” Charlie paid Gabriel and slipped her change into the tip jar.

“I’ve got a triple latte for a Dean!” Samandriel called from the end of the counter; his voice was much louder than it needed to be, courtesy of his headphones, and the man behind the register hit him in the back of the head with a _thwack_ , knocking one of the earbuds out of place.

“Inside voice, kiddo; y’don’t want to be making anyone deaf.”

Samandriel looked sheepish and quietly began steaming the milk for Charlie’s drink.

“Charlie, c’mon. Have a little faith in me, yeah?” Dean leaned up against the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. “Nothing big happened. We had a new admission last night, got her all settled in, and went on our merry little ways. Cas apologized for being a dick at first, and now we’re friends. Er, maybe not _friends_ , per se, but we don’t _hate_ each other.”

Charlie raised a single fine eyebrow, intruiged. “It’s _Cas_ now? What happened to Dr. Novak?”

He blanched, realizing his little slip of the tongue, and spun on his heel, retreating to their table by the window. Up until the evening prior, Castiel had been adamant that all staff refer to him as Dr. Novak, and here Dean was, calling him by a stupid little _nickname_ that he hadn’t even been cognizant of concocting.

“Winchester, don’t think you’re getting out of that so easily.” She grabbed her coffee cup from where a sheepish Samandriel had placed it on the counter and chased after him. She plopped down on the chair across from him and clasped her hands on both sides of the small table, poised like a dog eagerly waiting for her owner to finally unleash the tennis ball for her to chase.

“Charlie,” Dean ran a hand across his face. He was silently chiding himself for even opening his mouth. He knew the look on his friend’s face better than any other; she had the same salivating expression that Jo often got whenever she had some juicy gossip to spill about one of her classmates. She made no motion to back down and he breathed a quiet sigh of defeat, folding his newspaper on the table and taking a long swallow of his drink for courage. “Weren’t you the one who told me to give him a chance? That maybe he wasn’t as bad a guy as we thought, and that I could learn a lot from him?”

The redhead pursed her lips, but didn’t comment; she had to agree, no matter how reluctantly, because she had truly hoped that her friend would find the good in his situation and forge some kind of working partnership with his attending. 

During intern year and residency, being friendly with the attending could make or break someone’s chances in practice; fellowship wouldn’t be any different because medicine was a team-based profession and if two people didn’t get along, disastrous things could happen. Dean could understand that, since he and Dr. Novak had had such a bumpy beginning to their relationship, that Charlie would be shocked to learn that they’d become so chummy so fast.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually _listen_. You’re more stubborn than a rock, Winchester,” Charlie said, tone fond, smiling into her cup.

Dean returned her smile and opened up his newspaper. He skimmed through the obituaries for names that he recognized, enjoying his morning coffee in companionable silence with his friend. Thankfully, there were no familiar faces inked on the pages and he could breathe a sigh of relief. He’d lost a few adult patients in follow-up before, none less devastating than the last; he dreaded the day he’d see a pediatric patient’s name in the paper and silently hoped that it would never come to pass.

Finished with his paper, he folded it back up to the front page and rolled it tightly, securing it with the rubber band it had come with. “A new patient came in last night; young girl. I’m excited to be on this case; maybe I’ll actually learn something, yeah?” He tapped his finger underneath her chin, lifting her face to look him in the eye.

“Maybe,” she grumbled, swatting his hand away.

“Am I interrupting something?” Gabriel had sauntered up and pulled a chair beside their table, much as was his habit during their morning routine. This time, he had brought with him a plate with two small danish, one cheese and one apple, a sealed carton box, and a cup of hot tea.

Charlie grabbed the cheese-filled pastry and took a large bite from it. “Not at all,” she replied with a hand over her mouth to keep crumbs from spewing across the table.

Dean didn’t have the same decency and chomped down on his apple treat, wolfing it down in a few small bites. He washed down the remnants of his breakfast with a large gulp of coffee. “What’s in the box?”

“Just a little treat for you to bring to your attending: a chocolate filled croissant and earl grey tea,” Gabriel replied with a large grin.

“I don’t think buttering him up is going to make him like me any better,” said Dean, but he accepted the box anyway and placed it by his newspaper.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not trying to help you get on the boss’s good side, dumbass.”

Dean frowned, offended.

“It’s just that…” Gabriel released a deep sigh and slouched further into his chair. For a moment, he actually looked his age, weariness replacing the carefree and childish attitude that he normally kept up, creasing the lines in his face and dimming the brightness in his eyes. “Dr. Novak, or _Cas_ , as you called him… He’s my little brother.”

Charlie gaped and dropped her pastry back on the plate. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Gabriel shrugged. “You never asked. How was I supposed to know you’d be working with him? There’s another attending at that hospital in psych, isn’t there? A Dr. Jardin?”

“Yeah; he works more with the outpatients. I’m working with him for the first rotation,” replied the redhead.

“So that means you’re working with my brother?” Gabriel asked, spearing Dean with a searching look.

Dean swallowed down the rest of his coffee, reaching behind himself to toss out the paper cup. “Up until Charlie and I switch, yeah.” He glanced down at his watch, noticing that the short amount of time that he and his friend reserved for breakfast was quickly ticking away; they would have to take the rest of their breakfast on the go if they wanted to beat morning traffic and get to the hospital on time. He got to his feet and pushed his chair back under the table, signaling to Charlie that it was time to leave. She stuffed the last of her danish in her mouth and clapped her hands free of crumbs, grabbing her own coffee as she stood. 

Dean tucked his newspaper under his arm and picked up both the pastry box and the cup of tea. “I’ll be sure to deliver this to him,” he said, his voice tinged with mock gravity as if he were imitating an undercover agent entrusted with a priceless item for a drop and a dangerous location.

“Thanks for breakfast as always,” sang Charlie as she skipped towards the door.

“Not a problem, sweetheart,” said Gabriel, one of his trademark smiles returning to his face for a brief moment before he grabbed Dean by the wrist.

“Dean, before you go.”

There it was again; that strange seriousness that looked so uncharacteristic on the shop owner’s face. For some reason, it reminded Dean of Castiel’s discomfort the previous night before the new patient arrived on the ward, and the same nagging feeling that something just wasn’t quite right constricted itself in his chest.

“Keep an eye out for Castiel, okay? He forgets to eat sometimes, ‘cause he’s always so busy, and I worry. Especially with the kind of work he does. You know the feeling, right?”

Of course Dean knew the feeling; being a big brother did that to you. When he and Sam were younger, after their mother’s death, he had always felt as if it was his job to make sure his lunch was packed and that he wore his backpack on both shoulders - all the cool kids be damned. What he _didn’t_ understand, though, was what Gabriel meant about the work Cas did. He was a psychiatrist and sure, it got a little bit stressful to not only be a doctor but be in a position marked by so much suffering; being entrusted to help with the mental wellbeing of a child was hard work. Children weren’t _supposed_ to be in so much pain; they weren’t _supposed_ to know so much of the darker side of life. Dean, too, felt encumbered by the gravity of his work, but he knew how to get over it. All doctors were faced with the hardships of their patients and practicing medicine gave them a bit of a god complex; when people didn’t get better or, even worse, became even _more_ sick, they just had take it in stride and _deal_. They just had to get over it and move on to the next patient.

What was different about _Cas_?

“Now go.” Gabriel gave him a small shove between the shoulder blades. “You don’t want to be late on your second day of work.”

Dean responded with a small smile, but his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.

\---

By the time Dean and Charlie arrived at the hospital, Dr. Novak was already standing at his post by the nursing station, flipping through the pages of his charts and jotting a few notes here and there. Although rounds hadn’t officially begun just yet, it seemed as if he had already stopped by some of the patients to catch up with them before more formally interviewing them. His hair, although still a disaster, was combed into some semblance of style and both his tie and shirt had been replaced by a red tie and black button-down. 

_At least that means he went home at some point last night_ , Dean mused, taking in the doctor’s appearance. Charlie cleared her throat from by his side, jarring him out of his reverie. He cleared his throat and tugged absently at his coat, unnecessarily straightening the way it fell about his frame.

“ _What_?” he hissed.

“You were _staring_ ,” she whispered back.

“Was _not_.” He had simply been recognizing that Cas had changed his clothes. Whether or not he was also admiring how the cut of his new darker shirt hugged his torso or how the knot of his tie was actually straight this time was another thing entirely; another thing that Charlie had _no business_ picking up on.

Meg, the nurse they had met earlier on this first shift, chose that moment to wheel her med cart past them. “What are you children arguing about now?” she teased.

“Nothing,” Dean responded a bit too quickly.

Meg raised a single eyebrow and raked her gaze up and down his body before settling on his face. Her eyes narrowed, curious and searching. “I’m sure,” she purred, and shuffled back from whence she came. She disappeared into the med closet behind the nursing station, probably to refill her cart or do whatever else it was that nurses did; Dean had never been quite sure.

As soon as she was positive that the nurse had disappeared, Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. “Are you _sure_?” She had a mischievous glint in her eye that Dean didn’t trust.

“Yes,” he growled, and with that, he strode across the laminate flooring and took his position by his attending. He wasn’t going to let any of his friend’s or the nurse’s teasing get to him. He was a _professional_ , damn it, and he was going to do his job. Charlie smirked and walked off towards the doctors’ joint office, perhaps to meet Balthazar. Good riddance.

“Hello, Dean,” greeted Castiel without taking his eyes off of the chart he was writing in. He handed him a large binder. Dean awkwardly shuffled the tea and pastry box he was holding between his hands so that he could tuck the chart under his arm. “That belongs to Marin, the admission from last night. As soon as I finish updating Andy’s chart, we’ll invite her to the patient interview room to learn more about her case and set up a game plan for treatment.”

Dean was a little unnerved with the stoicism that the doctor had once again reverted to treating him with, but he decided to take Balthazar’s advice and not take it personally. They had made some sort of breakthrough last night, he was sure if it, and he had called him by his first name; he had to learn to celebrate the little victories with this man.

“Sounds good to me,” said Dean, albeit a little huffily. He wanted to be treated like a _partner_ \- not told what to do. “Oh, and, this is for you.” He held out the carton cup and the small box.

Castiel paused in his writing to look over at his fellow and put down his pen when he realized what Dean was holding. “For me?” he repeated; it was almost as if he hadn’t received a gift before. A little bit of his cold demeanor chipped away, a small smile twitching at his lips.

“Yeah; Gabriel wanted me to bring you something to eat.”

His smile grew even larger, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle with warmth. If Dean was being honest with himself, happiness was a good look for the man. “How do you know Gabriel?”

“Charlie and I have been going to Heavenly Grounds practically every day since med school. I had no idea Gabe was your brother, though; took him long enough to tell me,” Dean joked, returning his grin; a smiling Cas was infectious.

Castiel eagerly took the cup as Dean spoke, taking a sip of the tea before popping open the small pastry box and deeply inhaling the sweet scent of chocolate. He took the croissant out of the box and nibbled at the corner, closing his eyes and making a quiet noise of pure bliss that made Dean’s mouth go dry. His smile faltered for a moment, though, and he placed the pastry back in the box. He tucked his cup and breakfast behind the nurses’ station’s counter to retrieve once they’d finished their morning duties and had time for a break. “You and Dr. Bradbury are close?”

Dean found himself biting at his lower lip, unsure of where the nervous habit at crept up and why it was manifesting itself now. Was that _jealousy_ in Castiel’s tone? He doubted it; what was there to be jealous about? _Oh_. Had Cas thought there was something between him and Charlie? If he did, why did it matter? He fidgeted in his position, shifting his weight from one foot to another before giving up and leaning against the counter in a pose that he thought exuded nonchalance. “You could say that. She’s like the sister I never thought I wanted.”

Cas seemed to relax a little at that, but Dean decided to dismiss it as a fabrication of his imagination. He and Dr. Novak had just gotten to know each other, and even though he’d admit that he was a little bit attracted to him, he doubted that the feeling was mutual, and to be honest, who _wouldn’t_ be attracted to him? When he wasn’t being surly or aloof, he was actually kind of nice to be around, and when he smiled, his eyes grew warm in a way that made Dean’s chest feel lighter; it made him want to make the other doctor smile more often.

“She seems to be a nice young woman; I look forward to working with her in later rotations.”

“You that quick to get rid of me?” Dean was only half-joking.

Castiel’s brow creased in a frown and he tilted his head inquisitively to the side. “I was not insinuating that I was eager for our rotation together to come to an end, Dean.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, trying to shrink into himself. The other man’s penetrating blue gaze made him feel uncomfortable, like an insect under a magnifying glass. “I was kidding.”

“Oh.” Castiel shuffled through the binders on the counter, finishing up his final notes before returning them to their places on the shelves by the nurses’ station. “In that case, we should get to work. Nurse Masters,” he called.

“Here, boss.”

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. When had she come back from her meds run? How much had she heard? He secretly hoped the answer to that was not much.

“Dean and I would like to meet with Marin. Would you mind bringing her to the patient interview room?”

“Not a problem,” she said. She shot a wolfish grin in Dean’s direction before going to do as instructed. 

By then, Charlie and Balthazar had appeared at the nurses’ station, Gilda in tow.

“Morning Cassy, Winchester,” he greeted, his smarmy British accent raising the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck. “You two going to interview the new patient while Charlie and I round on the others?”

Castiel nodded and gestured to the charts he’d just shelved with a flick of his wrist. “I’ve already stopped by a few of the patients and taken a few notes on them. Some should be ready for discharge by the end of the week, but I’ll leave that decision to your discretion.”

Balthazar clucked his tongue, but retrieved the charts anyway. “Always working, that one,” he muttered to Charlie. “Never leaving any of the fun for the rest of us.”

Castiel, unperturbed at the other doctor’s comment, set off to the patient interview room. Dean followed silently, Marin’s chart under his hand.

The interview room wasn’t much different from what Dean had expected. At the adult hospital he had worked at during his residency, the room had been sparsely decorated and consisted of a large rectangular table surrounded by chairs; it looked more like an area for board meetings and conferences than getting to know patients, but it had served its purpose just fine. This room was similarly furnished, although the table was much smaller and, instead of being rectangular in shape, was round; in this way, it prevented from making the patient seem as if he was on the spot and being interrogated. The plush chairs around the table reflected the hospital’s bright color scheme and were equally spaced. Finger paintings and crayon drawings were hung on the walls - likely relics from past patients - and made the space feel more like a living room in a home full of children than a clinical setting.

Castiel took the seat the farthest away from the door and Dean collapsed in a chair next to him. He slid the chart across the table to his attending and pulled out his own notepad in which he had taken a few ghost notes the previous night. He took a deep breath to calm his fluttering nerves. His first day had been rather tame and most of his patient interaction had been secondhand. He’d gotten to know a few of the patients and certainly read up on them in their charts, but now, he was actually going to be involved in treatment. The thought made his pulse race with excitement and he had to keep himself in check as, moments later, Meg appeared in the room with the girl beside her.

Marin didn’t look to have gotten much rest, her eyes still shadowed with the same bruise-colored marks characteristic of sleepless nights, although some color had returned to her cheeks. Her white scrubs hung limply on her frame and she twisted her bony wrists between her fingers. Her hair had been combed and she’d arranged it so that it covered the bandage on her neck.

“Please, have a seat, Marin,” said Castiel, his voice warm like melted honey.

The girl’s gaze darted between the two doctors before she took her place in the chair closest to the door, as if ensuring that she could make a quick getaway if need be. Although Meg had stepped out of the room, however, she stood on the other side to prevent just that.

“I’m Dr. Novak, and this here’s Dr. Winchester.” He gestured to each of them as he introduced himself and his fellow. “We’ll be the doctors supervising your care while you’re with us.”

Marin hesitated and silence hung between the three of them. She seemed unsure of who to look at, but finally settled on Dean and, addressing him, said, “Hi.” Her voice was quiet and anxious, like a small mouse who’d been cornered in a room of salivating cats.

Dean’s heart pained for her, as he could tell she was uncomfortable. It couldn’t be easy, being brought into a hospital setting after having just tried to end her life. He offered her a small smile, trying to coax her into feeling more at ease with them.

“We want to be able to do what’s best for you and help so that you’ll be back on your feet as soon as possible. For that, we’d really like to get to know you. I know it might sound cheesy, but we want you to feel like we’re your _friends_ , not your doctors. You can tell us anything and we’ll keep it a secret.” Castiel kept the chart in front of him untouched and didn’t break eye contact with the girl.

Marin stared at her lap and picked at the skin surrounding her fingernails. The corner of her mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. “You’re right; that does sound cheesy.”

Dean chuckled quietly under his breath, earning him a pointed look from Castiel that quickly shut him up. 

Dr. Novak held out both his hands in a what-do-you-want-from-me sort of expression. “At least I tried, right?”

Marin’s smile grew and she nodded her head, lifting her gaze to study the doctor. “I guess.” Turning her attention to Dean, she gestured with her chin. “Why don’t _you_ talk?”

Dean glanced over at Castiel, searching for permission or something, he didn’t know, before speaking directly to the teen. “I’m a fellow here. I’ll be helping with your care and doing what I can, but Dr. Novak’s in charge.”

Marin looked skeptical. “So you’re not a real doctor?”

“I’m a real doctor.” Dean looked offended. Who did this little punk think she was? “It’s just that I used to work with adults. Now, I’m working with kids like you.”

She jut out her lower lip in defiance. “I’m not a _kid_. I’m going to be eighteen in a few days.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that still makes you a kid in our book.”

Castiel watched the interaction between the two fondly, glad to see that slowly yet surely, the walls that Marin had constructed around herself were beginning to disintegrate. She seemed much more comfortable bantering with Dean, and he, too, appeared to be more at ease in a less formal environment.

“Which means that, whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with us,” said Cas. “Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself and why you’re here?”

She rolled her eyes in typical teenager fashion and collapsed in her seat with an exasperated huff. “Isn’t it obvious?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, exposing the bandage on her neck. “I tried to kill myself.”

“I see that,” said Castiel. “What we’re trying to work out here is _why_.”

Marin tensed visibly at that, recoiling in her seat and all of a sudden looking half her age. “I was scared you were going to ask that,” she mumbled, resuming her absent picking of her fingernails.

When she looked so small, Dean wanted to scoop her up in his arms and shelter her from the world and from herself. She had lost her mother to a house fire, and he could commiserate with that. She hadn’t deserved such a loss; no one deserved to be subject to something like that, especially when the culprit behind the fire hadn’t been found. He understood if she wanted an escape from the pain of having to live without her mother; his father had found the outlet for his suffering in his work and took on more cases to prevent the amount of time he had to himself. ‘Idle hands are a surefire way to fall off the wagon’ had been John’s motto. Unfortunately for Dean and his brother, despite the fact that they were monetarily well cared for, it meant being left to their own devices at home for hours on end. At least they had had each other, though. Marin only had her father, and Dean wasn’t sure how he was dealing with the loss of his wife, either.

“D’you want to tell us?” Dean pressed, leaning slightly across the table.

Marin sucked her lower lip between her teeth, worrying at the flesh. The words that came out of her mouth were so quiet that he could hardly hear her.

“Come again?” asked Castiel, also leaning closer to her.

“He told me to do it,” she said.

Dean frowned, jotting this down quickly in his notepad.

“Who?” Castiel’s face was open and warm.

Marin plopped her hands down on her lap, exasperated. “I don’t want to tell you; I didn’t want to come here! You’re going to think I’m crazy!”

“Marin, that’s not true,” said Cas.

“Yes it is!” She was beginning to get agitated and perched on the edge of her seat like a frightened bird, ready to hop off and fly away at a moment’s notice. “What’re you going to do if I tell you the truth? Tie me up in a straight jacket and shoot me up with meds? Send me off to be by myself and think about what’s wrong with me? Only crazy people go to mental institutions, and I’m _not_ insane! I don’t belong here!”

Castiel watched her carefully, studying her movements, the tension in her muscles. He watched the way her hands gripped the arms of her chair, her knuckles white. He watched the way her jaw clenched, her teeth grinding against each other in frustration. He watched the way her feet were poised on the floor, her calves and thighs tight and poised to spring off the chair.

“Marin-”

“Don’t you ‘ _Marin_ ’ me. You don’t know anything about me; you don’t know _shit_ about what I’ve gone through.”

Dean understood the importance of letting a patient blow off steam if need be, but the girl’s words were hitting a little too close to home. He couldn’t just sit and watch as Cas took everything she had to say in stride, waiting for a break in her tirade to interject. No, he couldn’t stay _quiet_.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost a mother.” But he hadn’t meant to say that. Spilling too much personal information was dangerous; he’d already gone and fucked up one of the first rules of medicine. The blood rushed from his face and he glanced over to Cas for some sort of back up, but the other man was silent. Instead, he stared at him incredulously, his eyes wide and analytical.

“What did you just say?” whispered Marin, once again small and pressed into the back of her chair.

Castiel appeared to be encouraging him to continue, to find some sort of common ground, so Dean swallowed back his nerves and pressed on. “My mom died when I was four,” he said. If he thought about it, he could still feel the heat of the flames on his skin, hear his father’s shouts telling him to run outside with his brother bundled up in his arms as he tried to find his mother. The fire had grown too large, the smoke suffocating, and John couldn’t stay inside for long. By the time the fire department had arrived at the scene, half of their house had been destroyed and his mother, Mary, was gone. “She died in a house fire.”

Marin stared at him unblinkingly, her jaw slack. “You’re lying.”

Dean shook his head. “My dad sent me out of the house with my brother while he tried to save her, but it was too late. My brother and I… we had our fair share of babysitters growing up. My dad was a surgeon, and after he lost my mom, he started working more to keep his mind off of things.”

The teen couldn’t begin to believe how similar their stories were and, although she wanted to doubt it, the expression on Dean’s face said that he was telling the truth; she looked at him with newfound respect.

“My dad works a lot, too. He’s not home that much anymore, so I spend a lot of time at home alone. Well, not totally alone.”

Castiel shifted in his chair at that information. The records he’d examined had said she was an only child. “Do your friends from school come to visit?”

Marin shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She picked at her fingernails with such determination that Dean was afraid she’d break the skin. “Like I said, you’ll probably think I’m insane, but,” she looked directly at Dean, “I hear someone and talk to him sometimes. I know he doesn’t exist, I _know_ it. He _can’t_ , right?” Her eyes darted back and forth between the two doctors, looking for someone to corroborate her story.

“Can you tell me more about this voice?” asked Castiel.

“He tells me things - mean things. He’s the one who told me to kill myself, told me that things would be better without me, that I’d be happier dead. He said I could go to heaven and be with my mom if I did it.”

Dean’s fingers itched to reach across the table and comfort the girl who, during the course of their interview, had grown more and more pale. In contrast to her louder outbursts, she now looked resigned to her fate - something he never had wanted to see in a girl so young with so many prospects.

“Am I crazy?” she asked, her voice tiny.

“No, you’re not crazy,” replied Castiel, “You’ve been under a lot of pressure this past year; it’s not your fault.”

“Can you make him go away?”

“We can try. Together, the three of us will work together to help you get better. Dr. Winchester and I will come up with a plan for all of us, but for right now, we’d like you to spend some time with some of the other kids here. We’ll see you in daily sessions, both by yourself and with the others, and if you ever need anything, you can ask Nurse Masters, Dr. Winchester, or myself and we’ll be there for you. How does that sound?” asked Castiel.

Marin nodded, a small spark of hope glimmering in her eye. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Meg had shown up in the room when she heard the session wrapping to a close and escorted Marin into the hallway and back into her room.

As soon as the door closed, Dean deflated in his chair, his notepad clasped between shaky hands. “So along with her old diagnosis of MDD and BPD, she’s moderately schizophrenic?”

Castiel had already opened up her chart and begun to write down notes. “She’s in her late teens and had a traumatic experience that could have served as an environmental trigger; most schizophrenics begin exhibiting symptoms around this age, so if we can treat it now, her chances of having an improved quality of life are higher.”

“What’re you thinking, some sort of serotonin-suppressant or other antipsychotic?” It rattled Dean to be speaking so clinically of someone he had just met, of someone so young, but he tried not to let his emotions get in the way.

“Seroquel could help with the schizophrenia and the MDD. I’d say we start her on that, introduce her to group, and monitor her through individual therapy sessions to see if she needs anything else.”

“Lithium?” 

Castiel finished up his notes and closed up the chart. “I’d rather not, unless the Seroquel doesn’t work.”

Dean jotted down the main points of their discussion and what he’d learned from the interview on his notepad, fighting to keep his handwriting from shaking too much. Lithium was a powerful drug that often had high positive outcomes, but he knew how dangerous it could be in certain patient populations; he wasn’t certain he wanted to take the risk with Marin. Their discussion had been painful for her and led her to becoming upset and frustrated with them, but he could just _tell_ that she was a friendly girl with a beautiful smile just waiting to shine through. She deserved to be happy and he hoped that he and Cas could ensure that her smile was a more permanent fixture on her face.

Once Cas had closed the chart and stood, Dean followed him outside of the patient interview room and back to the nurses’ station where Charlie and Balthazar were already waiting - or at least, Balthazar was waiting. Charlie was talking to the nurse, Gilda, over the counter. The faint blush coloring her cheeks signaled to Dean that his friend had found someone she was _very_ interested in; he’d have to be sure to pester her about it later.

“How’d it go?” asked Balthazar; his solemn expression seemed foreign and out of place for him.

“It went well,” replied Castiel, shelving the chart, “Dean and I have come up with a plan for her. Hopefully, she’ll start responding to treatment soon so we can decide whether or not we have to change anything.” He shifted his attention to his fellow. “Dean, could you put her orders into the computer? I’d like to have my breakfast now.” His tea had already gotten cold, but he took the cup and box with him into the shared offices and closed the door.

Once he was gone, Dean took his position behind the counter and pulled up Marin’s digital file. There, he put in orders for medication and began coming up with her schedule.

“So it’s Dean now?” said Balthazar, resting his elbows on the counter and cupping his face in his hands.

“Shove it, Balthazar,” he growled, typing away at the computer; he fought the flush that inevitably colored his cheeks.

“Now, now, Winchester,” scolded the attending, “I was just making an observation.” With that, he sauntered off in the directions of the offices, probably to catch Castiel up on anything new that happened during rounds or something. 

Not that Dean cared or anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean arrived at the hospital on Wednesday morning with another takeaway cup full of steaming earl grey tea and a small cardboard box, courtesy of Gabriel now-known-as Novak; inside the box this time was a large chunk of banana-walnut bread that he, too, had had with his coffee. Gabe had come up with a new recipe that he was adamant on forcing on everyone that walked into his shop and neither Dean nor Charlie was going to complain.

Charlie had disappeared soon after they got to the hospital, saying something about having to meet Balthazar and Gilda on the West Ward to better understand how outpatient psychiatry worked at the hospital, and left him by the nurses’ station. Cas wasn’t writing notes at his usual perch, which was awfully unusual, but didn’t bother him. Knowing the other doctor, he was likely catching up with work in his office or meeting with patients before rounds. Cas was so absorbed with his work - it was admirable, really, to see someone so dedicated to the field - that Dean was beginning to understand at least part of the reason why Gabriel was so worried about his younger brother. It was as if he didn’t have any time for himself, time to get away from his patients and live his _own_ life.

“What’s in the box?” asked Meg. She sat perched behind the nurses’ station, snapping a piece of bubble gum. 

“Breakfast,” replied Dean tersely. He didn’t want to give her any ammunition to start teasing him.

She leaned closer to examine the box, which he quickly pulled away and held close to his chest.

“Where’s _my_ breakfast?”

“Not in the box.”

Meg faked a pout and went back to her work, scrolling through the computer database of doctor orders and updating her med list. Although it was early, a few of the patients were already awake and relaxing in the group lounge. Andy was playing a board game with some of the other boys on the unit and, surprisingly for Dean, Marin was seated on a large armchair by the window with a small leather book in her hands, chewing absently on the end of a pen. A small smile quirked the corner of his lips; she had had an individual therapy session with Cas after he went home for the evening and it seemed as if that, plus the medication they had prescribed her, would probably have a positive effect. He certainly hoped she would be a success story; he could just imagine her slipping back into her normal life, laughing and smiling with her friends.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around to face the voice and placing a hand against his chest in shock. “Damn it, Cas. We need to get you a bell.”

“I don’t understand,” said Castiel, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Never mind,” muttered Dean. “Here; I brought you breakfast again.” He held out the box that Gabriel had given him, the cup of tea in the other hand.

Castiel accepted both with a large grin on his face and set them on the counter. He took a sip of the tea, relishing in the feel of the hot liquid in his mouth, and ripped open the small box. “Banana bread,” he said gleefully. “My favorite.” He ripped off a small piece of the treat and popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Absolutely delicious,” he exclaimed after washing it down with another sip of tea.

Dean had been distracted by the bobbing of Castiel’s adam’s apple and he simply nodded in response, not exactly sure of what had been said.

“Thank you, Dean. I really appreciate it. If you’ll excuse me, since we still have some time before rounds, I’m going to enjoy this in the office.”

Dean watched as his attending took his breakfast and disappeared into the offices down the hallway; he was only jarred out of his reverie by Meg’s scoffing laughter from behind the nurses’ station.

“ _What_?” he scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. What did _she_ want? It was completely normal for a grown man to bring another grown man breakfast. He was just being friendly and helping out a good friend by keeping his younger brother well fed. Just because he sometimes got distracted by watching said other grown man eat said breakfast… No, that was treading on dangerous territory and he would have to watch himself if he didn’t want to be the talk of the department.

“Nothing,” replied Meg in a tone that suggested it was obviously something. She ripped off her updated list from the notepad on her desk and shuffled off into the meds closet to refill her cart and dispense morning meds. Because of the few discharges the previous afternoon, they were light on patients for the day, which allowed the nurses and doctors some free time and the chance to focus more on the few cases they did have. He would probably read up on whatever notes Cas had made on Marin and Andy from after he left so that he knew how to approach their treatment during his shift. Until then, though, he watched as Meg filled up a small paper cup with a few small colored pills and a second larger plastic cup with water.

“Med pass?” he asked, gesturing to the cups with his chin.

“They’re for the new admission,” she confirmed. She hesitated for moment, as if she was trying to come to terms with a dilemma that was really frustrating her, before thrusting the two cups towards him. “It’s not really protocol for doctors to do this, but why don’t you give them to her?”

Dean wondered why Meg was allowing him to have such an interaction with the patient, but then he remembered what he had admitted to during the interview with Marin; Meg had been just outside the door and had likely overheard quite a bit of what he’d confessed in an effort to get the new patient to trust him. He took the cups, nodding in silent thanks, and made his way across the floor to where the girl sat curled up with her book.

“Morning med pass,” he greeted, lifting the cups.

Marin made a face, but acquiesced, placing her pen in the middle of her book as a placeholder. She accepted the pills in her hand and placed them in her mouth, washing down each one individually with a gulp of water. Once she finished, she stuck out her tongue. “All gone.”

“Nice job.” Dean took back the paper and plastic cups from her and placed one inside the other. Marin had picked up her book again and resumed whatever it was she had been doing before he had come over.

“What’re you writing?” he asked, tapping the top of her book with a finger.

“Dr. Novak gave this to me yesterday in our individual session,” she explained, not pausing in her writing. “He said it’d probably be good for me to write things down, just to get it all out in the open, and if I really wanted to, we could talk about it together.”

“That’s some pretty good advice; you should listen to him.” Dean perched on the edge of a nearby coffee table and picked at the plastic of the cup he was holding. Journaling was often helpful for kids who had to deal with such strong stressors in their lives; he hadn’t really enjoyed it, but Sam had taken it up like a fish to water. Whenever they came home from school, Sam would run up to his room and disappear for at least a half hour to jot down whatever it was that he felt was important in a large notebook that he kept under his bed. As they got older, the large notebook was replaced with a small journal, small enough to be kept in a pocket for more frequent thoughts. It had certainly helped to keep him in check, especially when things got rough around high school, so maybe it would have the same effect on Marin.

Marin’s hand stilled on her paper and she tapped the end of her pen against her cheek thoughtfully. “Do you always bring your bosses breakfast?” she asked, smirking.

For the umpteenth time that day, Dean nearly fell from where he’d been sitting in shock at what someone had said. Was he really that transparent? He didn’t _like_ Cas that way… He just wanted to be friendly! Whether or not he was attracted to the man was another matter entirely because he sincerely doubted the feeling would be reciprocated. They were _colleagues_ , and that was _that_. 

“I’m just messing with you,” she said, her smirk growing into a positively shark-like grin.

Dean breathed a sigh of a relief.

“But actually.”

Dean crunched the plastic cup in his fist.

“I think it’d be kind of cute.” Marin folded up her legs onto the chair, pulling her knees up to her chin. “I mean, he’s kind of cute, in a nerdy sort of way, and you’re kind of cute in a not-so-nerdy sort of way…” She shrugged her shoulders, her cheeks turning somewhat pink at the admission. “It’d be cute.”

“You’re cute,” Dean teased, ruffling her hair and standing up. “Keep on doing what it is you’re doing; I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?” she asked as if she was nervous that what she had said had scared him away.

“I’m going to get some work done and maybe go home for a little bit. I’ll be back later, though. Take care of yourself.”

“Aye aye, captain,” she said, offering him a tiny salute and going back to her journaling.

The little bugger was far too astute for his liking, but her words got him thinking. Maybe Dean should try his luck later and—No. Who was to say that Castiel was even _interested_ in men? Taking a chance wasn’t worth potentially ruining their professional relationship.

\---

“So let me get this straight: you’re buying dinner for the boss you _hate_?”

Dean should’ve known this would’ve been Jo’s reaction; you just didn’t get away with complaining to a Harvelle-Singer without having to explain yourself if you had a change of heart.

“First off, he’s not my _boss_ in the technical sense of the term. If anything, he’s my supervisor; he doesn’t write my paycheck and he can’t fire me. Second off, I don’t _hate_ him; we just had a simple misunderstanding when we first met, but we’ve put aside our differences and we actually get along now,” said Dean, the words sounding rehearsed and foreign to his own ears. So what if he and Cas had reached an understanding that included food? That was totally normal. He absently picked at the label on his beer bottle and silently hoped that Jo wouldn’t press the issue much further. 

“You think he’s hot.” No such luck.

“Damn it, Jo,” Dean grumbled, taking a swig from his beer before placing it back on the counter. “Can’t I just be nice? Look; last time I went in late, the guy hadn’t even taken a break to get himself _dinner_ ; he can’t take care of himself for shit. I’m just doing Gabe a favor and keeping an eye out for his little brother.”

“Which involves buying him a bacon cheeseburger and bringing him a slice of my mother’s apple pie.”

“D’you know anyone in Seattle who makes better pie?” Dean challenged, raising a brow.

“No, but-”

“ _Exactly_.” Dean took another sip of his beer, spinning the bottle between his hands as he waited for Ellen to come back from the kitchen with his food. He’d decided to stop by the Roadhouse before he went back to work for his evening shift and pick up dinner for both himself and Cas. He didn’t know what the other doctor enjoyed eating, so he’d gotten him what he knew to be one of the best sellers on the diner’s menu, as well as a slice of Ellen’s famous apple pie. He’d ordered a slice for himself, as per usual, and had also gotten a third to bring for Marin. Hospital food was a tad lackluster and he hoped that she’d appreciate something home-cooked and flavorful.

“Whatever you say, Winchester.” Jo gave him a light punch in the shoulder and left him to his own devices, disappearing to join a group of guys that had gathered around the pool table.

The truth was, though, as much as he was loathe to admit it, Dean was actually beginning to enjoy spending time with Cas on the few occasions that their free moments overlapped. He was starting to realize that he _liked_ seeing the man’s different reactions to the goings-on of the hospital, such as the way his eyes softened when he listened to a patient and the way he was able to take control of a stressful situation. He was truly fantastic at his profession, and Dean _admired_ that. What was more was that he was actually starting to get fond of Cas’s quirks, like his anxious habit of chewing on the end of his pen when he thought no one was looking - he berated anyone who did the same, saying it was unsanitary, especially in a hospital - and how his hair got progressively messier throughout the day from his running his fingers through it. Dean found that he wanted to run his own fingers through Cas’s hair and rub small soothing circles on his temples to make him relax and put down his pen. He was starting to fall - _hard_ \- and he was scared to fuck things up. 

Mucking things over with a date was one thing; screwing things up beyond all recognition with someone that he had to _work with_ every day was another thing entirely. He wasn’t sure he was willing to take that risk just yet, if only because he was worried about the potential fallout.

“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Ellen, plopping down a full brown bag of food on the bar beside him.

“It’s nothing, Ellen,” replied Dean, knowing full well that the answer wasn’t going to appease her, but not in the mood to elaborate; he just wanted to get back to work. He rifled through his wallet for the bills needed to cover his meal, but she pushed his hand away.

“Your money’s no good here, Winchester, ‘specially when you’re leaving to go help peple.”

“Ellen-”

“Don’t you ‘Ellen’ me, young man. Now get on out of here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned across the bar top, placing a kiss on her cheek, before grabbing the paper bag and heading out to his car.

\---

The unit was eerily quiet when Dean arrived at the hospital, which he supposed was a good thing; in a profession like theirs, no news was good news, but he kept his pager clipped to his belt regardless. A night nurse was seated at a computer by the nurses’ station, typing away at some document, and the lounge was empty of patients. Most of them were probably off eating their own dinners or relaxing after the afternoon group session; some of the younger patients had probably even decided to call it an early night and go to bed. 

“Any sign of Dr. Novak?” he asked the nurse, carrying the brown bag of food in both arms.

“He’s in his office,” she replied.

Right. His office. That made sense.

Dean opened up the door to the joint office and, sure enough, there was Cas, sitting in front of his own computer and typing away at his digital charts. Like the first night Dean had come back to the hospital, Castiel’s white coat had been abandoned at some point in the afternoon and it now hung from a hook on the back of the door. His tie - it had been purple today - was coiled up on his desk and the top two buttons of his lavender shirt were undone; his sleeves were messily rolled and pushed up past his elbows.

“Hey, Cas,” greeted Dean, setting down the bag on one of the empty desks in the room.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied, pausing in his typing to spin around in his chair and face his fellow.

“I brought you some dinner; hope you like burgers.”

Cas didn’t move from his seat and watched as Dean pulled two large cartons from the bag. “You didn’t have to do that…”

“I know I didn’t have to; I wanted to.” He sat down in front of one of the cartons and opened it, taking a few of the french fries with in and popping them in his mouth. “Now are you going to come over here and tell me how the night’s been so far or am I going to have to eat dinner alone?”

Cas took the seat opposite Dean and opened up the other carton, inhaling the scent of fresh-cooked food. “This smells delicious,” he said, picking up the large bacon cheeseburger in both hands. “Did Gabriel put you up to this?” He took a large bite of the burger, juices from the meat dribbling down his chin that he quickly wiped away with a napkin. His eyes fluttered closed as he chewed, savoring the smoky taste of the bacon and the flavor of the cheddar cheese on his taste buds.

“Why d’you say that?” asked Dean, also taking a bite of his burger.

Cas ripped open a couple of ketchup packets and squeezed the ketchup into a small neat pile next to his french fries before answering. “It’s just that—,” he set down his burger and absently used a french fry to trace designs in the ketchup. “We got off to a rough start, and then Gabriel’s been sending you in with breakfast for me… I guess I just don’t understand _why_ you’re being so good to me.”

Dean paused, a french fry halfway to his mouth. The poor guy didn’t think he _deserved_ kindness; he probably thought that because he came across as being rude, he couldn’t make friends. Well, if that was the case, he had another thing coming, because Dean was determined to coax out the small flicker of a smile that Cas rarely allowed people to see on a daily basis.

“You were an ass.”

Cas snorted a laugh, dunking a fry in his ketchup and popping it in his mouth.

“But don’t get me wrong; being on call and working together hasn’t been that bad,” Dean assured him.

Cas looked skeptical, leaning back in his chair with an ankle crossed over his knee.

“Honest!” Dean swallowed down the nerves that threatened to choke back his next words. “You’re a great doctor, and I’ve got a lot to learn here. Adults—They’re _different_ than kids in more ways than you’d think. Adults are usually more resigned when they come in and will try to actively participate in their treatment. Kids‘ll call you out on your bullshit and refuse to listen to you if they think you’re stupid.”

A faint flush colored Castiel’s cheeks, as if he wasn’t used to being complimented. “Dean, I’m sure you know a lot more than you think you do. You performed admirably with Marin during her initial interview.”

Dean shrugged it off and chewed through the last of his burger.

“I mean it, Dean.” Castiel searched his face with his eyes, forcing him to gaze back into that deep sea of blue that threatened to swallow him up whole. “I went directly into a five-year child and adolescent psych residency after med school. I don’t have the experience with adults that’s helpful with dealing with more assertive teens like Marin; you do. I think the two of us have a lot to learn from each other.”

Now on the other side of praise, Dean fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable. He really wasn’t all that; he was just able to connect with Marin because he saw a little bit of himself in her. He found it interesting, though, that Cas had skipped the traditional route for his studies and pursued a training program that was so focused in one small niche; he must have been single-mindedly dedicated to the field to skip over general psychiatry like that. “Why’d you go into child psych?”

Castiel mulled it over, chewing thoughtfully, before replying. “I enjoyed my rotations in pediatrics and psychiatry. I thought it made sense combine them both without taking a detour.”

Dean’s brows furrowed, not willing to accept the answer at face value. The way Cas’s eyes flickered away from his and darted nervously to his plate, how his fingers gained a faint tremor—his behavior was reminiscent to the night when Marin was admitted; he was being evasive, as if he didn’t trust him with the full truth just yet. Although he wanted to push and prod and the psychiatrist in him was eager to get to the bottom of whatever pit Castiel had hid his darkest secrets, he had to respect his attending’s desire to keep some things to himself; there were just some stories that you didn’t want to tell.

“That’s cool.” Dean cleaned off his hands on a napkin and pulled out one of the containers of pie. Seeing that Cas had finished his dinner, too, he took out a slice for him as well.

“What about you, Dean?” asked Castiel. He opened up his pie and cut off a small morsel of it with his fork. “Why child psych?”

“My dad was an orthopedic surgeon,” replied Dean. He’d quickly learned that, despite his father’s urging, surgery wasn’t the field for him, and he said as much. “He wanted me to pick up practice with him, but I hated my surgical rotation. He died a few years ago and his practice switched hands, so I thought I’d just do what I wanted to do instead. Psych was cool, and I decided on children because I wanted to be there for kids who needed help, kind of like my brother and I did after our mom died.”

“Kids like Marin,” said Castiel.

“Just like Marin,” Dean confirmed, nodding once.

Cas nudged bits of apple and crust around his plate, appearing lost in thought for a moment. “You’re a good man, Dean.”

“Pfft.” Dean waved the compliment away and stood, collecting his trash to dump in the receptacle in the office. “Speaking of Marin, how’s she been doing in group?”

Castiel also stood and threw out his trash, cleaning up the empty desk’s surface. He grabbed a large black binder from his desk and flipped it open to a page in the middle. He held it out for Dean’s perusal, pointing to a particular section of notes. “She’s been very responsive; she and Andy seem to be becoming good friends, which I think is good for both of them.”

Dean accepted the chart and skimmed over the outlined section of notes. “That’s awesome. Any reaction to her meds?”

“Meg said that she was a little reluctant to take her afternoon dose, but after some convincing, she did. The Seroquel seems to be working great; the only issue is getting her to take it when she’s supposed to.”

Dean’s lips quirked in a smirk and he folded the binder closed, placing it back on Cas’s desk. The little punk was proving to be quite the spunky kid. He searched through the paper bag he’d brought with him from the Roadhouse for the last slice of pie and crinkled up the bag in his fist, tossing it in the trash. “I brought this for her; thought she’d like a break from hospital food.”

“She’s taken to spending quite a bit of time in the lounge; maybe she’s there now?” suggested Castiel.

The two of them left their office and took their places by the nurses’ station. Sure enough, sometime over the course of their dinner, Marin had returned to her post by the window, her journal in hand. She was watching them from her seat, a small smile on her face that Dean didn’t quite trust. He was interrupted from the little staring contest the two of them had fallen into from across the room by a beeping sound coming from Castiel’s direction.

Cas pulled his pager from where it was clipped on his belt and read the tiny blinking display; the little peaceful glint in his eyes that had been present while they ate was slowly replaced by the gravity of a doctor on a mission.

“What’s up?” asked Dean, gesturing towards the pager; his had remained silent.

“Looks like they need a consult in the ER; they’re not sure if they should admit the kid up here and they want me to give a mental exam.”

“Should I come with?”

“No, no,” Cas waved him away and clipped the pager back on his belt. “I can take care of it. You go say hello to Marin and give her the pie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Alright. Night, Cas,” said Dean, watching as the other doctor hurried down the hall towards the emergency department. 

He paused at the top of the stairs and, looking over his shoulder, allowed him a small smile. “Good night, Dean.”

Marin’s little grin grew into a much more devious expression from where she was sat by the window. With an exasperated sigh, Dean took a seat next to her, steeling himself to deal with whatever snark she wanted to thrust his way. Before she was able to tease him though, he offered her the slice of pie and a fork. “Here, I got you something.”

Marin’s eyes glittered with glee and she took the slice eagerly. She opened up the carton and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes to enjoy the sweet scent of the caramelized apples and cinnamon. “Thanks, doc,” she said. She cut off a large slice of the pie and stuffed into her mouth, chewing with gusto. “So,” she swallowed down her mouthful of food and gestured between Dean and the empty space where Castiel had stood with her fork. “You two are close. Did you guys have dinner together?”

Dean rolled his eyes and collapsed further into his seat. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he chided, spearing her with a sidelong glance. “Yes, we did.”

“I knew it!” she cheered, stabbing the air with her fork. “You’re totally dating.”

“What?!” Dean spluttered. “No we’re _not_.”

“But you’re in to him.” Her statement didn’t allow any room for questioning.

As much as Dean didn’t want to admit it to anyone, the fact of the matter was that yes, he did think Cas was attractive, and yes, he really enjoyed spending time with him. He’d resigned himself to thinking that nothing would happen, though, because it _couldn’t_ “Who’s to say he’s in to _me_?” he shot back, not exactly refuting what she’d said. “Are you kidding me?” Marin deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “You’d have to be blind to miss the way he looks at you. He obviously thinks you’re hot. Which you are. Hot, that is.” Her face blazed red as she grew increasingly flustered. She cut a large chunk of the pie and shoved it in her mouth. “ _Wow_ , this is great pie,” she said through a spray of crumbs, trying to redirect the conversation to a different path entirely. Dean chuckled and reached to ruffle her hair. “You’re pretty observant, for a kid.” “I’m not a kid,” she mumbled into her pie. 

Maybe Marin was right, though. Maybe he _could_ take a risk and try something with Cas. What’s the worse that could happen? Cas could say no and they’d go back to their everyday lives? That sounded just fine to him. Cas saying no wasn’t what scared him, though; it was quite the opposite. Cas saying _yes_ frightened him to his very core, made his palms go sweaty with nerves and dried his mouth, because there was always the chance that things could go wrong. Knowing him and his track record with relationships, the _chance_ that things could go wrong was more like an inevitable fact. His thoughts drifted to Sammy and how happy he was with Jess. Dean had accepted that he’d never have that, as much as he wanted to… But maybe he _could_. The only thing standing in his way was himself at this point. If he could just muster up the courage… Maybe there was a happy ending in sight for him after all.

“Thanks, Marin.”


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the week passed in a general state of peace. There were a few new admissions - the child that Cas had gone to see on Wednesday night had passed for a short stay and was to be discharged early the next week - and a few goodbyes had to be made. Jake and Scott, two of the boys that Dean had met on his first morning, were discharged to outpatient the previous day, and it seemed that Andy and Max, the boy who had avoided group sessions at first, were likely to be sent home by Monday morning.

Marin had stabilized during her last few treatments and was going to be discharged that morning with the stipulation that she returned weekly for outpatient sessions and maintain her medications. All of that combined with the excitement buzzing through Dean because of his dinner plans with Sam that evening meant that he couldn’t sit still and was pacing in front of the nurses’ station. He had taken Marin’s words to heart and was thinking about asking Cas to get something to eat with him _outside_ of the hospital. 

“Will you quit it?” groused Meg from the other side of the counter. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

Dean shot her a withering look but stopped his pacing, moving instead to tap his foot anxiously. “Have you seen Cas?” The discharge process was stressful on the physician’s end. Castiel had been buried in paperwork and entangled in phone lines with various physicians and insurance companies since he got in that morning. 

“He’s probably finishing up Marin’s paperwork,” replied Meg. She, too, was shuffling behind the counter, busy with organizing the medications that she was going to send home with the patient. The weekends were always busy at the hospital, discharges not withstanding, if only because the team had to come up with a game plan for when there were fewer doctors on staff. During the weekends, the majority of the doctors in the psychiatry department worked call and weren’t present in the hospital; to pick up the slack, a schedule had to be made for the inpatient nurses and technicians so that the patients that needed more attention were provided it. Once Marin was taken care of, Dean and Cas would have to meet with Meg to establish said schedule, since they were the fellow and attending on staff in the East ward; Charlie and Balthazar hadn’t been around as much as they were the early days in the week since their focus was in the other half of the department.

“Could you go check on her? See if she’s all packed?” asked Meg, pointing with her chin to Marin’s room as she finished putting together a small package for the girl.

“You got it.” 

Dean found Marin in her room, seated on her bed with a small backpack filled with her possessions beside her; the journal Cas had given her lie on top. She’d traded in her hospital-issued scrubs for a pair of denim shorts and a graphic tee shirt. Her hair was neatly combed and the bandage she had originally had placed on her neck was gone, replaced by a couple of strategically-placed steri-strips to protect the healing wound.

“Hey there,” he greeted, sitting across from her on a chair in the corner of the room. “How’re you feeling?”

“Nervous,” she replied, twisting one of her wrists in her hand. “My dad’s going to be here soon, right?”

Dean nodded and reached to tuck an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. “Dr. Novak’s getting all of your paperwork together and you’ll be out of here in no time.” The news didn’t make her look any more excited to leave. If anything, she seemed reluctant to go. She was clinging to her backpack and journal like they were her only flotation devices in the midst of a storm on the sea.

“You alright?” he asked. She had seemed eager to get back to her normal life before and her sudden nervousness made Dean question whether or not discharging her was the right idea.

“I’m fine,” she said, plastering on a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Really.”

“You know you can always come back if you need anything, right?” The plan was to have Marin come back for follow up early the next week and start her outpatient treatment on the West Ward. He was wary that, with the way she was acting now, she would have cold feet and decided not to come by. He wanted her to feel welcome, to feel accepted, and that he had tried to establish a friendship between them. He hoped she realized that he cared, even more than a doctor should, and would be there for her if she needed him.

“Yeah, definitely. And I’ve got this journal Dr. Novak gave me, too.”

“Exactly,” said Dean.

“Speaking of Dr. Novak, are you going to ask him out?” The mischievous glint returned to Marin’s face, much to Dean’s chagrin. He groaned and leaned back in his chair, smacking his hand against his face.

“Do we _have_ to talk about this _now_?”

“Yes!” Marin scooted to the edge of her bed. “If we don’t talk about it _now_ , when are we going to talk about it? Are you going to ask him out or what?”

She had a point there, and Dean couldn’t keep his plan secret for too long. “If you must know,” he began, pausing for effect; she looked as if she was going to spontaneously combust from anticipation, hanging on to his words. “I think I’m going to go for it.”

Marin squealed with excitement and punched a fist in the air. “Awesome! He’ll totally say yes; I mean, he _better_ say yes. You’ve totally got to tell me how it goes next time I see you.”

“You’ve got it,” said Dean, rising to his feet. “Now let’s get you all packed up and ready to go, shall we?”

Marin scooped up her belongings and tossed her backpack over her shoulders. She held her notebook against her chest and followed Dean to the nurses’ station where Cas, Meg, and a tall man with dark hair were waiting for her.

“Dad!” she called, running up to the man and pressing herself close against his chest. The man wrapped his arms tightly around his daughter, squeezing her tightly as if he was afraid she’d disappear. His eyes were shut tight to hold back tears. “Marin, my baby,” he choked out, pulling her back to arm’s length so that he could look at her. The dark shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep were lighter and her skin had regained some color from the sickly pallor it had had when she was admitted into the hospital. There was still a chance for her, and it warmed Dean to watch the reunion between father and child.

“You have a wonderful daughter, Mr. Hobbes,” said Cas as soon as the two separated. He held out a thick manila folder with his discharge orders written inside and a small bag that Meg had put together. “She made a vast improvement during her time here and we hope to see her for continued outpatient treatment.” Mr. Hobbes listened intently to the instructions with Marin clung close to his side. 

“So this is it, huh?” asked Marin, looking between the two doctors and the nurse.

Castiel nodded and held out a hand for her to shake. “It was a pleasure getting to know you, Marin.”

Marin rolled her eyes, dismissing the formal gesture, and enveloped the dark haired doctor in a hug. “Thanks, Dr. Novak.” As soon as they parted, she gave Dean a tight hug as well. “Whip him into shape for me, yeah?” she whispered into his ear.

Dean chuckled softly and whispered back, “I’ll do my best.”

Marin finished up her goodbyes to the rest of the staff and some of the friends she had made over the course of her stay and left the ward, holding on to her father’s hand. It was a little sad to see her go, especially since Dean had gotten to know her so well, but he knew it was for the best. Now, all that was left to do was wait; with her outpatient visits, she would likely improve, but only time could tell how patients responded to treatment. There was always the chance that something could go wrong, and the thought of that happening made Dean’s stomach clench with dread. He dismissed the thought, deciding instead to focus on all the positive outcomes that were likely in her future. He had to celebrate the little victories, and getting her to the point of discharge was definitely one of the more important ones. Now, though, he felt compelled to fulfill his promise to her, to take his chances with Cas; he owed himself that much. 

“What’s the plan for the rest of the afternoon?” asked Dean. With the few discharges taken care of, all that was left to do was to finish establishing the weekend schedule and he could go home to get ready for dinner with Sam and Jess. The thought filled him with renewed anticipation; he couldn’t wait to see his brother and tell him all about how his first week had gone. 

“While you were with Marin, Meg and I worked on the staffing schedule for the weekend.” Castiel held out a clipboard for Dean to study. Everything appeared to be in order with a few extra technicians employed for the patients that still needed one-to-one supervision and more nurses on staff during the mornings and evenings.

“Looks good to me,” said Dean, handing back the clipboard. “Is that it?”

“That’s it,” said Castiel. He was sporting one of his rare smiles and actually looked rather at peace for once. Discharging patients always felt good, and Dean was glad to see that the other doctor was pleased as well. “I was just going to finish up some charting, but you’re free to go home.” 

With that, Castiel grabbed a few charts from the shelf behind the nurses’ station and was about to leave for his office before Dean clamped his hand down on his shoulder. “Wait a sec.” Cas turned back around, his charts tucked under his arm, and stared at the younger doctor inquisitively.

“Yes, Dean?”

Under the scrutiny of those bright blue eyes, all of the suave words Dean had on the tip of his tongue evaporated. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, struggling to come up with something to say. Cas tilted his head to the side in clinical observation and, worried that he was going to lose patience with him, Dean sputtered out, “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Where the hell had _that_ come from?

Cas looked a little confused, his nose scrunched up in thought. “Nothing,” he replied, “Why?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and tucked his other hand into one of his coat’s pockets. “I was wondering if you’d maybe be interested in joining me for dinner; I’m supposed to be meeting my brother and his wife later, so, if you wanted to come, too, you could, but I’d totally understand if you didn’t, too, I just-”

“Dean,” Cas held up a hand to stop him babbling. _Thank god_. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“No!” Dean replied too quickly. “I mean, uh, that is, if you don’t want it to be…”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirked up in a small grin. “It’s a date, then.”

Had that really just happened? Had it really been that easy? He gave a mental celebratory fist pump. “Awesome. I’ll just pick you up around six?”

“I’ll see you then,” said Castiel, and he returned to his office with his charts.

Dean released a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He had to call Sammy.

\---

“Hey, Sam,” greeted Dean, one hand holding his cell phone to his ear while the other had control of the steering wheel.

“Tell me you’re not talking and driving,” snapped his brother.

“Shut up.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Alright, Mr. Fancy Lawyer. I think we’ve established that you have the superior vocabulary.”

Sam’s laughter echoed over the phone’s receiver.

“About tonight, I wanted to ask you something,” said Dean.

Sam sounded dejected as he asked, “You can’t go?”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Even if he was busy, Dean would have tried to make at least some time that night for his brother; they’d had plans for a week, and the truth was that he missed his stupid face.

“Then what’s up?”

Dean could hear the sound of his brother’s chair creaking as he relaxed in his office. “I kind of asked my attending to come with me,” he mumbled. The other line remained silent for a long moment, but before long, he could hear the sound of stifled giggles.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Sam, his voice becoming more strained. “Like, on a date?”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled.

“Are you serious, man? That’s not a problem at all. Jess and I were thinking of having Roadhouse for dinner, and we invited Charlie, too.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief; he was glad that he’d avoided his brother’s teasing, even if it was only for a few minutes. “So it’s the whole gang?”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “We really miss everyone and thought it would be cool to see the whole family.”

“No, that’s awesome. I can’t wait.”

“So I take it you two get along now?” asked Sam.

Dean nodded and, realizing that his brother couldn’t see the action, responded, “Yeah; this week was pretty eye-opening. He’s a great doctor, really, and it’s been awesome to work with him.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Does this mean you’ve slept with him?”

Dean nearly swerved into the lane of oncoming traffic and dropped his phone onto the passenger seat. After regaining control of the car, he fumbled for his phone and pressed it against his face. “Christ, Sammy!”

Sam wheezed with laughter on the other line. “I mean, it’s cool if you have; I just want to know if I have to bring a barf bag to deal with you guys making cow eyes at each other from across the table.”

Dean briefly took his hand off of the steering wheel to comb through his hair. “No, we haven’t, okay?” That didn’t mean he didn’t _want_ to. What with Cas and his perpetually messy sex hair, deep gravelly voice, and bright blue eyes—He’d be lying if he said the other doctor hadn’t made a few guest appearances in his dreams and that he’d been the cause of a few uncomfortable morning situations.

“That’s awesome,” said Sam, “I mean, I’m happy for you. Don’t fuck it up, alright?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Not a problem. I’ve gotta go now, but I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“See you later,” replied Dean, flipping his phone closed.

\---

Dean was seated in his car parked by the curb in front of Castiel’s apartment, drumming against the steering wheel with his thumb. He kept looking back and forth between his phone in his free hand and the number on the building’s door, double-checking that he’d arrived at the right place. The tall brick building was a short drive away from the hospital in a quieter part of the city, which seemed to suit the attending’s personality just fine; it was practical with its proximity to work, but was also in a peaceful enough neighborhood that it was a comfortable respite from the fast-pace life of their department. 

Certain that he had found the right address, albeit a few minutes early, Dean scrolled through his phone to call the other man, but was interrupted by the sound of knuckles rapping against the glass of the passenger side window. Cas waved from outside the door, so Dean unlocked it to let him inside.

“I saw your car from my window,” said Cas, sliding in to the passenger seat. Dean caught a whiff of the fresh scent of bergamot and sandalwood when Cas settled in his seat, and Dean had to cling tighter to the steering wheel to keep himself from nuzzling the other man’s neck. Castiel’s slightly disheveled hair was still wet from a shower and he looked like he’d just shaved, or at least tried to; his jaw was still speckled with the light stubble that seemed to perpetually mark his skin. His more professional clothing had been switched out for a pair of worn dark jeans that fit snug low on his hips and a charcoal grey button-down shirt with the sleeves carefully rolled up his forearms. 

Dean cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone dry. “Awesome; we’re supposed to be meeting Sam, my brother, and his wife, Jess, at the Roadhouse for dinner - hope that’s cool.” He put the car in drive, slowly pulling away from the drive.

“The Roadhouse,” Cas mused aloud, trying to figure out why that name sounded familiar. “Is that where you bought that pie from?”

“The one and only,” beamed Dean. “Really close family friends own the place, and the food is amazing. If you thought the apple pie and the burger were good, just wait until you see the whole menu.”

Castiel smiled softly, content, and sat quietly as they drove. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but to keep himself from filling it with inane chatter, Dean turned on the stereo system, which already had one of his favorite tapes loaded into it.

“Is this Zeppelin?” asked Cas, humming along with the music.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan, though,” said Dean, turning his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the man beside him.

Castiel smirked, a devious glint in his eye. “There are quite a few things you don’t know about me, Dr. Winchester.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, curious. “Is that so, Dr. Novak? Well, isn’t it lucky that we’ve got a whole night ahead of us to get better acquainted.” He turned the stereo knob up, letting the music pump through his car’s stereo, and drove down the road with the sound of Cas’s quiet humming keeping him company.

\---

The Roadhouse was packed with its usual Friday night crowd, groups of people sharing a few drinks, playing pool, and just having an all-around good time. Bobby usually closed his shop early on Fridays to take over running the bar while Ellen ran the kitchen for the evening. Since the weekend was also the restaurant’s busiest nights, Jo often helped out and was bustling back and forth between tables, taking orders and delivering plates to hungry patrons. She bumped her hip lightly against Dean’s as she walked past, shooting him a wink. He didn’t miss the way her eyes trailed up and down Cas’s body as she passed them by. She was scrawling down someone’s order on a small spiral notepad but, noticing that she’d caught Dean’s attention, she mouthed, ‘he’s dreamy,’ being sure to over-exaggerate the motion so that he could read her lips.

“Who’s she?” asked Cas from his side, gesturing to the young spritely blonde.

“Her? That’s Jo; she’s the owner’s daughter. She helps out here every now and then, especially when it gets busy around here, like tonight. Ellen, who you’ll probably meet later, is her mom and the one responsible for the pie I brought you the other night.”

“I would definitely like to meet her,” said Cas. “Anyone who can bake like that is a goddess in my eyes.”

Dean tossed his head back in laughter and guided him over to the bar. “You be sure to tell her that; she’d love you.” He hopped up on one of the bar’s stools and smacked his hand down on the counter to get the man running the bar’s attention. “Hey there, old man,” he called, waving at the man in the old trucker hat.

“Hey yourself,” groused Bobby, shuffling on over to him. He nodded his head in greeting towards Cas. “And hello to your friend. What can I get you kids?”

“I’ll have whatever’s on tap,” replied Dean. 

“I’ll have the same,” added Castiel.

Bobby grabbed two tall pint glasses from behind the counter and filled them expertly before placing them down on two coasters in front of them. “Gotta use those or I’ll never see the end of Ellen’s wrath.”

“I thought the bar top was lacquered to keep rings from setting in the wood?” commented Dean.

“You try tellin’ her that. If she catches you puttin’ your cup on anywhere _but_ the coaster, it’s your hide she’ll be tannin’.” With a huff, Bobby took off down the counter to take care of another patron.

“And he is?” asked Castiel, taking a careful sip of his beer.

“That’s Bobby,” replied Dean. “He’s… kind of like a second dad for me and Sam. He and my dad were good friends when they were younger, so he was around the house a lot when we were growing up and Dad had to pull long shifts at the hospital. He owns a car garage nearby, and he married Jo’s mom a few years ago.”

“So practically everyone here is like family to you.”

Dean grinned into his glass. “I guess you could say that.”

“Must be nice,” mused Cas, chasing a droplet of condensation down his cup with his finger.

“What about you?” Dean nudged him gently in the side. “You’ve got Gabriel here; any other family?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’ve got two stepbrothers, Michael and Lucifer, but they live back in New York. I moved around a lot for school, going to college in Boston, med school in Connecticut, and doing my residency in California; I never used to stay in one place for too long. When I got this job here, Gabriel decided to pick up his shop and move on out here, too.” He smirked, taking another sip of his beer. “Said it’d be easier to keep an eye out on his crazy little brother if we at least lived on the same side of the country.”

Dean spun on his stool so that he had his back to the counter and leaned against it, propping his elbows up on the bar top behind him. “Sounds like a great older brother.”

“He really is,” said Cas, “He’s always been there for me… when things get to be a little too much.” His expression turned reminiscent but Dean chose not to comment on it; he didn’t want to put a damper on their night by bringing up something that the other man didn’t want to talk about. Tonight was about new beginnings and taking chances; it was a fresh start for both of them.

“What does your brother do?” asked Castiel.

“Sammy?” Dean puffed up with pride. “He’s a hotshot lawyer; gave our dad the big ‘fuck you’ when it came time for him to start studying for his MCATs, saying he’d much rather go to law school. Christ, was _that_ a fight I’ll never forget.”

“I take it your father didn’t take too kindly to the news?”

“Hello no!” exclaimed Dean. “He wanted us all to become surgeons like him. I’d gotten into med school and when it was supposed to be Sam’s turn, he just wasn’t willing to take no for an answer. They settled their differences, thankfully, before he died, but during those couple of months, the house felt like a cold war zone.”

While Dean recounted the story, a tall man with long hair that flopped into his eyes had entered into the Roadhouse with a blonde woman on his arm. “Speak of the devil, there he is. Hey Sammy! Over here!” He waved for his brother and his wife to come over to them by the bar.

Catching sight of Dean, Sam ambled over and pulled his older brother into a tight, back-slapping hug. “What’s up with the stupid hair, Sasquatch?” He reached up to tug on a piece of Sam’s hair, only to have his hand batted away.

“Nice to see you, too, Dean.”

Dean placed a light kiss on Jess’s cheek, offering her a disarming grin. “And you, my dear, look prettier every time I see you.”

“Stop it, you,” she teased, pushing lightly on his shoulder.

Castiel observed the entire interaction with a small smile on his face. 

“Sam, Jess,” said Dean, “This is Cas, the attending at the children’s hospital.”

Castiel offered the two of them a small wave. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Sam took his hand in a strong shake. “Great to meet you, too; Dean’s told me so much about you.” He hopped up on a bar stool beside his brother and signaled Bobby for a beer for himself.

“And for you, young miss?” Bobby asked Jess.

She shook her head, smiling a small shy grin. “Nothing for me, thanks.” She and Sam exchanged a conspiratorial look that was completely lost on Dean; he shrugged to himself and took another sip of his drink.

“So, man, how’ve you been?” He clapped his younger brother on the shoulder. “What’s new?” The Roadhouse truly was the best place for them to meet, as now, with what felt like his entire family around him, he felt at home; there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be than with his brother and his friends. He hoped that Cas, too, would feel comfortable around them and melt into their little tight-knit group.

“Same old same,” said Sam. “Work’s been great and I’ve managed to square away some vacation time, so Jess and I are going to spend a week in Europe.”

“Europe? What happened to a weekend getaway?” Dean was excited that his brother had been able to plan such an extensive trip; he certainly earned it.

“We’d talked about it, and we thought it’d be nice to go to France, see the sights; maybe even visit the beaches in the South.”

“Nice is beautiful this time of year,” suggested Castiel.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” said Jess, gently nudging Sam in the side.

“We’ll have to go there, then.” Sam wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist and placed a kiss on her hair.

“You’ve been to France?” asked Dean. After medical school, making time for vacation could be difficult until both residency and fellowship were finished; he himself had very little time allotted in his schedule for himself just yet and, when he finished his fellowship, was planning to take a long vacation to relax and just _be_. Cas, although he was already an attending, wasn’t that much older than Dean and, judging by what he knew of his personality so far, he probably hadn’t been the type to take a gap year or allow himself any time to breathe; he far too enveloped in his work.

Castiel nodded and finished up his beer. “I studied abroad there for a semester during my junior year of undergrad. I, uh…” His cheeks colored as if he remembered something he would much rather forget. “I had a great time there.” 

Dean watched him curiously and drained his own beer and his scrutiny didn’t go unnoticed. 

“What?” Cas snapped.

“I didn’t say a thing,” said Dean, holding up both of his hands in front of his chest in a gesture of peace.

Jo sidled up to their position at the bar just then, a pen tucked behind her ear and a handful of menus. “Hey Sam! Jess!” She waved to the two of them with a grin. “A booth just opened up for four over by the window, if y’all will follow me.” She guided them over to a large booth with plush leather benches and placed a menu in front of each of them. “Can I get you anything else to drink?”

“A water for me, please,” piped Jess. Sam lifted up his beer, signaling that he still had something to drink. Dean, keeping in mind that he had to drive Cas home at the end of the night, ordered a root beer, and Cas asked for a diet coke.

“Not a problem. I’ll bring that right on over,” she said with a smile.

Dean, already knowing what he wanted to order, left the menu closed in front of him. Cas, on the other hand, was scrutinizing the booklet of laminated paper like it held the secrets to all of life’s great mysteries.

“So, Dean,” asked Sam, “How’d your first week go?”

The last time Dean had talked to his brother - before today, that was - he hadn’t been too pleased with his placement. He remembered how harsh he had been in his initial judgment of his attending and, now careful to choose the correct words so as not to offend the man he was now trying to impress, answered, “It was great. We had a few new admissions, a few discharges… All in all, I’m starting to really like it there; I think I made the right choice in taking up a fellowship.”

Castiel was smiling softly to himself as he flipped through his menu.

“What?” Now it was Dean’s turn to snap at his attending’s conspiratorial look.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel chuckled, closing his menu and turning his attention to Sam, “I’m afraid Dean and I didn’t get off on the best foot when his rotation began,” he explained. “It took some time working together, though, before we finally hit our stride; he’s been a great addition to the hospital’s team.”

Dean positively preened at the praise, leaning back into the comfort of his seat.

“I’m sure he has been,” said Sam with an appraisingly look between his brother and the other man.

Jo popped up at the end of their table holding a platter of their drinks, placing a glass in front of each of the members of the group. “Are you guys ready for me to take your order?”

“I’ll have my usual, Jo,” said Dean.

“Chicken Caesar salad for me,” said Sam, ignoring his brother’s grimace. Jess placed an order for something equally healthy and leafy, and Cas decided to have a burger—a man after Dean’s own heart.

“You said Charlie was going to join us, too?” asked Dean, taking a sip of his soda.

“She’s here,” said Sam, looking in the direction of the bar. Sure enough, although Dean isn’t sure how he missed her coming in, Charlie was seated on one of the bar stools, her more formal business attire replaced by a pair of jeans and a brightly colored graphic tee shirt she’d bought at a comic convention a couple years prior. Sitting next to her was Gilda, the nurse that she’d been working with; the two of them were sitting awfully close for a couple of friends, and he’d have to be blind to miss the little furtive glances they were stealing from over the tops of their drinks. Well, he’d be damned.

“She isn’t eating with us?”

“No; we just wanted her to be here. See,” Sam paused, wrapping his arm around Jess’s slim shoulders. “We have a little announcement, and we just wanted everyone to be here.”

Dean’s eyes darted between his brother and his wife, confused. What sort of announcement needed the whole family?

“We’re going to have a baby,” said Jess, her eyes glittering with delight.

Oh; that sort of announcement.

Sam was going to have a baby. Sam was going to have a _baby_. Sam was going to be a dad! It took a little while for the news to sink in, but when it did, Dean’s face broke out into a huge grin. It all made _sense_ \- why Jess, who could usually drink them all under the table, had refrained from ordering a beer at the bar, why the two little lovebirds were going off to on vacation together, why Jess was practically _glowing_ when she smiled…

If Sam was going to be a father, then Dean was going to be an uncle. _An uncle_.

“I’m going to be an uncle!” exclaimed Dean.

“Congratulations,” said Cas, much more quietly than Dean, who was quite obviously struck with such excitement that he couldn’t be calmed down.

“Oh my, god! How long have you known? D’you know if it’s going to be a boy or a girl yet? Have you picked out a name?”

“I’m not that far along, and we’ve been talking about names, but we’re only going to be more serious about a decision when we find out if it’s a boy or a girl,” explained Jess.

“Wow,” breathed Dean. His brother was going to be a dad and he was going to be an _uncle_. He couldn’t get over it. Sammy had finally found his happy ending - a beautiful young wife, a nice home, a stable job, and now a _kid_. He couldn’t be more proud of him. If only their parents could be there and join in their happiness. Although he hadn’t known his mother very well, only four years old when she’d died, he was sure she would spoil the kid rotten. If their dad had been around and it was a boy, he’d take him to baseball games on the weekends, and if it was a girl, he’d make sure she was treated like a little princess and go to all of her dance recitals; as serious as he usually was, John had been a bit of a softie at heart and would have melted over his grandchildren. “I’m happy for you, Sam. Really happy.”

Moments later, Jo arrived with their plates of food and Sam told her the news. Jo practically squealed with glee and reached across the booth to give Jess a huge hug. The commotion dragged out Ellen from the kitchen and Bobby, Charlie, and Gilda from the bar.

“This calls for some kind of celebration,” said Ellen, and she brought out a couple of her apple pies with generous scoops of vanilla ice cream for each of them.

Caught up in the excitement, Dean hadn’t had much time to introduce Cas to the rest of his family, but as he dug in to his ice cream, he saw the other man engaged in deep conversation with Ellen as if he, too, had been apart of their ragamuffin group since the very beginning. The image of all of the people he cared about the most around him filled Dean’s chest to bursting with warmth, and the sight of _Cas_ with everyone, too… It was like he _belonged_ with them, sitting by his side and talking to Ellen about the merits of making your own piecrust.

Yeah, it was practically _perfect_.

\---

Dean pulled up outside of Castiel’s apartment building, putting the car into park by the side of the curb. He was still bubbling over with excitement about the Sam’s news and had had a lot of fun at the Roadhouse with his friends. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” he said, glancing at Cas.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, but made no move to leave the car. “Dean,” he began, pausing to stare at his hands that were folded in his lap with… Was that— _nervousness_? “Would you like to come in? For a drink?”

Dean’s pulse picked up, imagining what it’d be like inside of Cas’s home. Knowing the other doctor, it was probably kept in pristine order with eggshell white walls, modern furnishings, and framed art prints - something elegant and upscale. He wondered if that sort of style would extend to his bedroom, too, or if he kept that part of his home warm and comfortable with soft sheets, warm blankets, and—He was getting ahead of himself. He swallowed down a knot of nerves that had lodged itself in his throat - and what was that about? Since when had he turned into a teenaged boy - and nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Castiel led them up the stairs to his apartment and unlocked the door, stepping inside. The decor completely shattered the imagined design that Dean had created in his mind. Instead of the clean lines and stark decorations that he had expected, the living room that he had walked into was cozy and mismatched - much like the way Gabriel’s coffee shop was furnished. The sofa and chairs matched in feeling alone as the pattern of the upholstery and design of each piece was drastically different. Built-in shelving units that lined the walls were filled with all sorts of books, ranging from medical textbooks to paperbacks to the freaking _Bible_ , and any and all free space between them housed a small knickknack. The only thing in the living space that looked modern was the television - a sleek flat-screen mounted opposite the couch.

“I hope beer’s alright,” called Cas from where he’d disappeared in the kitchen.

“Beer’s great,” replied Dean, collapsing on the couch; Cas was turning out to be full of surprises.

The other man joined him shortly, handing Dean a bottle of beer. “Cheers,” said Cas, knocking the necks of their bottles together and taking a long swig. Dean paused with his bottle halfway to his lips, watching the way Cas’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The sight made his mouth go dry and all of the thoughts that had been bouncing around his head were replaced with _Cas_ and what would the skin of his neck feel like underneath his lips. He took a quick drink, trying - and failing - to wash away the images that were making heat pool low in his belly.

The two sat nursing their beers in companionable silence before Cas spoke, his voice tentative. “Thank you, Dean,” he said, absently picking at the label on his bottle, “For everything.”

“Dude, I should be thanking _you_ for coming out with me and celebrating. Sorry that we didn’t get much time to ourselves; it probably wasn’t what you were expecting from a date…”

Castiel shook his head. “No, I enjoyed myself. _Really_. And I don’t mean thank you just for _this_ , for inviting me into your family, although I am grateful for that. I mean for _everything_.”

Dean was at a loss, unsure of what the other man meant; he had treated him poorly right back when they’d first met, and from that point on, he’d thought he was just doing what a friend _should_ do.

“For being so nice to me, even when I treated you unprofessionally.” He held up a hand to silence Dean’s protests. “I had been rude to insinuate you weren’t cut out for the job, and yet you treated me well, brought me food - and not just when Gabriel gave it to you.” That had been true; although Gabe had asked Dean to keep a look out for his brother, bringing him dinner the other night had been _his_ choice.

Dean found himself leaning in closer, caught up in the gravitational pull that was _Cas_ , swallowed up by the blue ocean of his eyes. Somewhere along the line of their conversation, his arm had snaked behind his shoulders on the couch, and he felt himself _falling_. As much as he could try to reel himself back in, he found that he didn’t _want_ to. He wanted to reach out and touch, take, and feel what Castiel’s skin felt like under his fingers, taste the way his lips would give under the pressure of his own.

Cas reached up, cupping his face in his hand, and Dean allowed himself to lean into the touch. “You truly are a good man, Dean,” he murmured, breath ghosting Dean’s cheek.

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, his pulse pumping so fast under his skin, it was a mystery to him that Cas couldn’t hear it. He was drowning, lost; all he could think about at that moment was _Cas_ and how close they were, how he wanted to be _closer_.

And then Cas was leaning in, closing the small distance between them, and pressing their mouths together in a heated kiss. Dean’s hand slid from behind Cas’s shoulders to the nape of his neck, his fingers burying themselves in his hair; his other hand situated itself against his hip, his thumb rubbing absent circles against his hip bone as he returned the kiss, _hard_. He nipped at his lower lip, soothing over the bite with his tongue, eliciting a quiet groan from the back of Cas’s throat that ran straight to his dick, the heat building in his stomach. Their lips slipped together, tongues licking into each other’s mouth, a desperate clash of teeth and tongues and _more_. 

He had to get closer; there were far too many clothes in the way, the fabric suffocating, and he tugged on the hem of Cas’s shirt, untucking it from his jeans. His fingers moved swiftly, unbuttoning the darker haired man’s shirt, and he used both hands to shove it off of his shoulders, exposing an expanse of tanned skin and lithe muscle that he craved to park up as his own. His lips slid to Cas’s neck, biting into the soft flesh and sucking a dark purple bruise by his collar bone, making Cas cry out, a beautiful, broken sound; he pressed his hands up his sides, his thumbs tracing the indents of his ribs on their way up his body. 

Castiel dug his fingers on Dean’s shoulder blades, his hands rucking up his shirt past his back, hungry for the feel of skin against his. They separated for a moment so that Cas could pull the offensive garment over his head, and then tug him close, bare chest against bare chest. The heat of Cas’s body against his, the feel of their skin against each other… Dean wanted to spread him out and taste every inch of his flesh, pepper him from head to toe with tiny kisses and figure out which of his actions would draw out which needy sounds from Cas’s lips.

“Bed,” Cas growled against his mouth, hooking his fingers in his belt loops and lifting him up off of the couch as he stood. He grabbed Dean by the hand and pulled him off into the direction of his room. Once there, Cas kissed him with renewed gusto, and his hands slipped between them to cup at Dean’s growing hardness; his hips bucked into the touch and a low groan tore itself from his throat.

“ _Cas_ ,” he moaned, holding the other man close to him by the hips, his fingers pressing so tightly against the hard ridge of his hipbones that there would likely be bruises there in the morning.

Cas kept pushing against him until the backs of his knees knocked against the edge of the bed and he fell backwards onto the mattress. The darker haired man sunk to the floor between his legs, pushing Dean’s thighs apart and nimbly undoing the button and pulling slowly on the zipper, too damn slow. “Cas, if you don’t hurry the fuck up _now_ , I’m going to-” Cas slid back up his body and silenced him with a harsh kiss. 

“Patience, Dean.” He returned his attention to his pants, tugging them slowly off of his hips and tossing them off into the corner. Hooking his fingers on the band of Dean’s boxers, he pulled them to the floor, allowing the fabric to pool by his ankles before Dean kicked them off, exposing his cock to the air. He planted small teasing kisses up his inner thigh, beginning by his knee and trailing closer and closer to his balls before skipping over the place that Dean _wanted_ his lips and kissing down the other thigh.

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean hissed, moving his hips to urge the other man’s attention to where he wanted to feel his mouth.

“Is this what you want?” asked Cas with a cheeky grin that Dean couldn’t trust. He leaned close, his hot breath ghosting over his sensitive skin. He took Dean’s cock in his hand by the base and licked a long, slow stripe from root to tip, his tongue circling once over the head and lapping at a bead of precome.

“ _Yes, yes, yes_ ,” Dean groaned, his eyelids fluttering shut at the sensation.

Cas circled his lips around the crown and bobbed his head, his cheeks puckering in as he sucked, his tongue lathing around the head and the vein on the underside of his cock, his hand twisting and moving over the skin that he couldn’t take in at once.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas.” Dean opened an eye to look down at where Cas was kneeling and staring up at him with those damn blue eyes. He reached forward with his hands, burying his fingers in Cas’s messy dark hair, gently urging him to take more of him.

Cas moved both of his hands to Dean’s hips, holding him still against the bed so that he could control the pace. Carefully, he sunk down lower, his lips skating inch by inch down his cock until he had taken all of him down his throat, his nose pressing against the dark nest of curls by the base. Dean squirmed against Cas’s strong hands that were holding down his hips, eager to fuck into that sinfully hot mouth. Cas pulled off of his cock with a filthy pop and ran his hand down his length, admiring the view from where he was sat.

Dean, spread wantonly on his bed, his skin flushed with desire, subject to his carefully slow ministrations. “Cas, _please_ ,” he begged. Castiel took his cock in his mouth again and sucked him harder, deeper, picking up the pace. His fingers drifted to his balls, cupping and caressing the soft skin.

Dean was close, so fucking _close_ , he could hardly stand it. Cas, the man he’d thought to be an aloof and frigid doctor, was proving himself to be anything _but_. His tongue circled wickedly around the head of his cock, pulling loud moans from his lips; he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back for much longer. “Cas, I’m going to-”

Cas let one finger slip past his balls, pressing lightly against Dean’s opening, and that was _it_. Dean came with a shout down Cas’s throat, his vision whiting out as his orgasm pulsed through him, coming harder than he could remember. Cas swallowed him down, every drop, and stroked him through the aftershocks until he was too sensitive to take anymore, his chest heaving with every breath. 

Slowly, as he regained consciousness after that mind-blowing orgasm, he realized that Cas was still wearing his pants, untouched, which wasn’t fucking _fair_. “Come here,” he growled, tugging Cas up onto the bed and flipping their position so that the blue-eyed man was beneath him. He pressed their mouths together in a filthy kiss, the taste of himself on Cas’s tongue sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. With much less finesse and teasing than Cas had employed, he unzipped his pants and pulled them down past his ankles to the floor. Cas’s hard, wet cock smacked against his stomach, and Dean reached between them to take his length in his hand.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas moaned, his voice deliciously hoarse and low and entirely _fucked out_. Dean’s hand moved at a wicked pace, pumping up and down, his thumb wiping at the beads of precome on the head, circling the crown once, twice, until Cas came with Dean’s name on his mouth, spurts of come coating both his hand and Cas’s stomach. Gently, he lapped up the come from the other man’s muscles; he scooped up a small amount on his finger and pushed it passed Cas’s lips. Obligingly, Cas sucked his finger clean, his eyelids heavy and fucking blissed out from his orgasm.

“Come here,” he breathed, pulling Dean close for another kiss, both of their tastes on his tongue. Dean collapsed beside him in a boneless heap, drawn towards the warmth of Castiel’s body. Cas tugged a sheet from beneath them to wrap around their sticky naked bodies and closed his eyes. “Sleep,” he murmured, nuzzling close to Dean’s neck.

Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling Cas close to his chest, and fell asleep to the soft sounds of his breathing.

\---

Dean awoke the next morning in a bed he didn’t recognize as his own, sheets entangled in his legs. He was alone, the place beside him on the bed cold and abandoned, but he caught the faint scent of sandalwood on the pillowcase under his head. He shifted, kicking off the sheets, and the memories of the previous night slowly came back to him. “Cas?” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep as he sat up in bed. The other man was nowhere to be found, so he trudged to the pile of his clothes on the floor and rummaged through them for his boxers. Pulling them on, he stepped out of the room in search of Cas.

The scent of freshly-made waffles and smoky bacon wafted through the air from the kitchen where Cas was stationed by the stove, fixing up breakfast. He was dressed in a pair of flannel pajama pants that were slung low on his hips, his chest bare.

“Good morning, Dean,” he said, scooping the last of the bacon out of the frying pan and onto two plates.

“Morning, Cas,” said Dean. He stood close behind him, his hands sliding to his stomach as he nuzzled his neck, peppering the skin with small kisses.

“Ah, ah, ah,” chided Castiel, pulling away so that he could grab both of their plates. He held one out for Dean to take. “Not before breakfast.”

Dean frowned, lips downturned in a pout, but accepted the plate and hopped up on a stool by the kitchen island. Using his fork, he cut off a small bite of his waffle and popped it in his mouth. “Wow; is there anything you’re _not_ good at?”

Cas picked up a piece of bacon between two fingers and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully and appearing to mull the question for a moment. “I’m not quite sure.”

“Smartass,” Dean mumbled turning back to his breakfast. They ate in companionable silence and, once they were finished, they washed the dishes together, Dean up to his elbows in suds while Cas dried everything off and put the plates in their rightful places.

“You can have a kiss now,” said Castiel. He locked his hands at the wrist behind Dean’s neck, pulling him close to him and pressing a soft chaste kiss to his lips; he tasted faintly of the syrup from the waffles. Dean wished he didn’t have to leave this moment, barefoot and comfortable in the kitchen with someone he found that he truly cared about. He was happy, despite the niggling feeling at the back of his mind that told him his happiness couldn’t last forever; something _always_ went wrong - it was inevitable. He was going to fight it, though; he wasn’t going to let things fall apart. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to allow Cas to fall through his fingers. He finally had something that he wanted, and damn it if it was selfish of him, but he wasn’t going to pass it up.

Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s and wrapped his hands around his hips. One thing they would have to figure out, though, was how they were going to tell the others at work. The best strategy was to keep it quiet especially since Cas was technically in a superior position to him at the hospital, but, knowing their friends and the people that they worked with, their—whatever it was that was happening between them—wasn’t going to be easily hidden. “What’re we going to tell the others? You know they’ll notice something’s different; Meg’s already been teasing me about you.”

“Has she?” Cas combed his finger’s absently through Dean’s hair, the pads of his fingertips massaging small circles on his scalp. Dean let his eyes close as he leaned into the touch.

“Mmhm, it’s kind of hard to keep a secret when you’re working so close to other people.”

“Then I guess we’ll take things one step at a time, see how it goes,” said Cas. “I don’t want to give you up, Dean.”

Dean felt warmed at the thought that Cas, too, wanted to cling to whatever tenuous _thing_ they had building and he held on to him even tighter. “You won’t have to.”

\---

“So Dean,” purred Charlie from over the top of her coffee mug. _Oh no_. Dean should’ve known that the teasing and pestering was going to start as soon as they had to go back to work. He had spent the rest of the day on Saturday with Cas, dividing their time between the kitchen, shower, and bed, and had only gone back to his apartment on Sunday because Cas had said something about having plans with Gabriel.

“What?” he grumbled, flipping through his newspaper without looking at her.

“I saw you leaving with Castiel on Friday night.”

Dean peered over at her from the top of the paper. “I drove him home after dinner,” he responded curtly.

“Oh _really_?” asked Charlie, really unwillingly to let it go so easily.

Gabriel sauntered over to their table with a plate of pastries, as per their morning ritual, and plopped down on a chair next to them. He crossed one leg over the other, a huge shit-eating grin on his face. “Dean-O drove my little bro home on Friday night and then fucked him senseless.”

“Jesus Christ!” Dean shouted, nearly spilling his coffee. “Am I not entitled to any privacy around here?”

“Well, that’s one way to get a confession out of him,” said Gabriel, chewing on croissant.

“What?” asked Dean; now he was confused.

“Did you actually think Castiel was one to kiss and tell? I just made that up to see how you’d react and obviously, I was right.” Gabriel took another bite of his pastry. “Cas and I meet up every Sunday to go to the local flea market; it’s something we do to catch up with each other and if I find something new to decorate the shop with, so be it. I haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from France during college and since he mentioned the other day that you two were going out for dinner, I figured it at had something to do with you.”

So Dean had just ratted himself out for nothing. To Cas’s _brother_ , no less.

“Chin up, Dean-O. You act like I wasn’t going to find out sooner or later anyway.”

No, he hadn’t doubted that he would find out; he had just hoped that it would have been in a different way.

“What’s that make you and the doc now? Boyfriends?” asked Charlie, munching on her own pastry.

Dean hadn’t really thought about what they’d call each other; they hadn’t exactly talked about it. _Boyfriends_. He kind of liked the sound of the word; he’d have to bring it up with him sometime. “I don’t know,” he replied, pushing his breakfast treat away.

“Well do you like him?” Charlie prodded.

Dean speared her with a look that read _isn’t it fucking obvious_?

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Sorry I asked; it’s just that sleeping with someone doesn’t always mean you like them.”

The trouble here was that he _did_ like Cas - a _lot_ \- which was exactly why he was so scared of messing things up. 

“That makes you boyfriends in my book,” Charlie chirped and washed down the rest of her croissant with the last of her coffee. “Now come on, Casanova; time to get to work.” She stood up, threw out her trash, and went outside to wait by the car.

“Dean, before you go,” said Gabriel, the serious expression from when he asked Dean to bring his younger brother breakfast back on his face, but this time with a different sort of gravity. “I just want you to, y’know, be careful with him, okay?” 

Dean frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. He had expected the big brother talk - he would’ve given it himself were he in Gabriel’s position - but it wasn’t like Cas was a fragile child; he was quite capable of taking care of himself, and Dean certainly had no intention of hurting him.

“Hey, cool it. I’m not going to threaten to cut off one of your limbs if you fuck it up, but you’ve gotta understand—he’s my baby brother. I’m not sure how much he’s told you about our family, but I’m basically all he’s got right now and I want what’s best for him.” He clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re a good guy, though, Dean.”

Dean swallowed audibly and folded up his newspaper. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabe,” he murmured, his voice a little raspy with emotion. A lot of people were saying that nowadays; he only hoped he could prove them right.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the week passed in a busy flurry of admissions and discharges that Dean found himself taking more and more responsibility in the goings-on of the East Ward. He was directly in charge of one case, having only to refer to Castiel to get his notes signed off on and approved before he could type up his orders; it was his job to decide the course of treatment during the inpatient stay and then discharge the patient to other forms of treatment. He felt truly independent, just as he had in his last year of residency. With the independence, however, came a lot more work, and although the story of him and Cas had been leaked to the nurses on staff, they never had much time to spend with each other. Instead, they decided to schedule their dates together in advance and had decided to spend that Friday evening with each other. Some movie that Cas had been dying to see had just come out and they were going to watch it together once they both got out of work.

“Hot date tonight?” asked Charlie over breakfast; unfortunately, it had been breakfast that she had had to pay for herself since Gabriel had taken the weekend off to attend some sort of coffee conference that she had just understood to be an excuse for a vacation.

“You could say that,” Dean smirked, flipping open his newspaper to the obituaries page.

“What’re you two lovebirds going to do?”

Dean didn’t respond and instead stared blankly at the page in front of him. He didn’t hear her. He wasn’t paying attention. He _couldn’t_ pay attention. A tiny face, printed in stippled grey ink on the newsprint, smiled up at him from the page, her face much younger, much happier than he remembered her.

_Marin Hobbes, 18, survived by her father…_

His hands trembled and the newspaper fell from between his fingers to the table.

“Dean?” asked Charlie, but her voice sounded distant and distorted, as if he was underwater and she was shouting at him from the surface, struggling to pull him up so that he could breathe—

_Marin Hobbes, 18…_

She lived to see her birthday, and wasn’t that ironic. All of the time that he had spent calling her a kid for her to correct him, saying that she was going to be an adult soon. She lived until she was eighteen, but not much longer than that. Something had taken her, but he was to scared to keep reading, too scared to see what a nagging feeling deep inside of him told him was the case: that she _hadn’t_ been stable enough to leave, as much as she had seemed to be; that she _hadn’t_ been capable of controlling her own medical doses, never wanting to keep to the schedule that the nurses had set for her; that she _hadn’t_ gone to the outpatient sessions that they had scheduled for her, whether it have been because of her own negligence, or avoidance, or her inability to get to the hospital.

_Marin Hobbes…_

He had _failed_ her. The fact of the matter was that he had tried his best, but quite obviously, his best hadn’t been enough; there was proof written in front of him in the fucking _newspaper_ that his best didn’t make the cut. Marin was _dead_ , and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Dean. _Dean_.” Charlie had her hand on his shoulder and was shaking him, trying to get him to pay attention to her. He lifted his head from the paper, staring at her through blank watery eyes. Not trusting his voice to speak, he showed her the newspaper. Charlie skimmed through the paper, trying to find what had disturbed her friend so much; when she saw it, her heart dropped into her stomach. She wrapped her arms tight around his body, holding him close and whispering soothing words in his ear. “ _It’s okay, it’s okay…_ ”

It wasn’t okay, but his friend’s comforting voice made him feel like maybe it was alright to _crack_ just a little bit, to let out some of the emotion that was threatening to strangle him. He shut his eyes tight and clung to her coat, his fingers knotting in the fabric as tears fell from down his cheeks.

“Let’s call Dr. Novak, okay?” she said, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades.

Dean shook his head. “No, I have to go in to work.”

“Dean,” she said, her voice stern. “You know if you go in like this, he’s just going to send you home early.” She tilted his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Give me the keys to the Impala; I’ll drive you home and you can call Cas and tell him you’re not coming in.”

Dean’s hands moved on their own accord, fishing his keys from his pocket and holding them out to Charlie. He let her guide him out of the coffee shop and into his car. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Losing patients happened to everyone in medicine, some more frequently than others. Emergency room physicians lost at least one patient a _day_ , as was the nature of their work; inpatient psychiatrists didn’t lose their patients very often while they were under their care since they were so heavily monitored at the hospital, but as soon as they left and were no longer under their watch, they were susceptible to the same stressors that existed before they came in. Inpatient psychiatry was meant to _stabilize_ patients, a bridge meant to help them get a renewed outlook on life between whatever breakdown had caused them to get admitted and their outpatient treatment. Sometimes, that bridge failed; sometimes, the planks weren’t placed down sturdy enough and patients fell through to the rushing river underneath while other times, the patients disregarded the guardrails and jumped right in headfirst. 

In this case, Dean couldn’t tell where the blame lie, nor did he want to assign it to anyone but _himself_. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the primary physician behind her care; he was the one who _understood_ her, who she felt comfortable talking to. He was supposed to be there for her, to realize that she hadn’t been ready to leave, to realize that maybe she wouldn’t have been ready to leave for a long time and get her transferred to a longer term inpatient facility. Somewhere along the way, he’d gone and fucked things up and now the world had one less smiling face in it. His first lost patient in his new fellowship was devastating, and he hardly noticed it when Charlie led him into his apartment and deposited him on the couch.

“Here,” she said, holding out his cell phone, “Call him.”

Dean pressed the speed dial number that he’d programmed as Castiel’s cell phone number and waited for the sound of the other man’s voice.

“Dean?” Cas picked up sounding much more harried than he’d expected.

“Hey, Cas,” he choked, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears.

“Are you alright?” He must’ve seen the obits, too; they all read them as some sort of sick habit they’d picked up during their earliest rotations.

“Yeah, uh, about that—” he swallowed down a knot of tears, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to come in today, and…”

“It’s okay Dean, it’s fine; I understand.” He didn’t need Dean to finish to know that they were canceling for the night; it only made sense, all things considering. “Take the day off. I’ll stop by when I get off work and bring dinner. How’s that sound?”

“Great,” he replied, his voice saying that it was anything but. 

“Great.” Cas breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll see you then; take care.” 

The line went dead and Dean clicked his phone shut, tossing it on his coffee table.

“You gonna be okay?” asked Charlie, carding her fingers through Dean’s hair.

What could he say? He had no choice but to accept it and move on, as heartless as it sounded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he forced himself to say.

As soon as he heard the _snick_ of the lock as Charlie stepped out, Dean curled himself into a tight ball on his couch and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would come and that when he woke up, everything would be alright.

\---

The few hours after Dean awoke, nothing had changed. Marin was still gone and there was nothing he was going to be able to do about it. That didn’t keep him from sifting through his ghost notes, though. In every bad scenario, there was always a lesson to be learned from it; in this case, maybe the lesson was to not get so attached to his patients. It was difficult to remind himself to stay distant when they were so young, aged beyond their years under the weight of their illnesses.

He was knocked out of his study by the sound of his buzzer over the intercom, signaling that he had a visitor. He pressed the button to unlock the front door and waited for whoever it was to come upstairs. At the sound of knuckles rapping on the wood of his apartment door, he opened it to find Cas on the other side with a large brown paper bag in his arms with the logo to the Roadhouse emblazoned on its side.

“I brought dinner,” said Cas, tentatively holding out the bag.

Dean took the bag from Castiel’s hands, placing it down on the kitchen table, before crushing him in a large hug. He hated to feel so weak, so needy, but he craved the feeling of human contact and needed a solid presence to reassure him that it wasn’t the end of the world, as much as it felt like it was.

Cas brought his hands up to hold Dean close to him, gently smoothing the back of his hair.

They sat down at the kitchen table and ate their dinner without speaking; Dean didn’t _want_ to talk about it - he just needed someone _there_. Together, they cleaned up the remnants of their food and, once they’d finished, relocated to the couch that Dean had spent most of his morning and afternoon on.

“What did I do wrong?” asked Dean, holding out his notepad for Cas to look at, hoping that he could understand it more.

Cas accepted the notepad, but didn’t look through it. Instead, he placed it on the coffee table and, holding Dean by the shoulders, forcing Dean to look him in the eye. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dean,” he assured him. “It wasn’t your fault; you can’t blame yourself for this.”

“If it wasn’t my fault, then why do I feel like shit about it?” asked Dean.

“Because doctors have god complexes and get mad when they can’t save the world,” replied Cas.

Dean huffed a hollow laugh, turning away but Cas cupped his chin in his hands, bringing Dean’s watery gaze back to his blue eyes. “I mean it. Marin was a great girl and you cared about her very much, but there are other kids who need you, too. What about the new admin from last night? Krissy? She needs you, Dean, and so do all the other kids who are going to walk through those hospital doors tomorrow, and the day after that.”

Dean curled up close against Castiel’s chest, closing his eyes and tucking his head against the crook of his shoulder. It felt too big for him to handle, far too much for him to deal with, but he knew that Cas was right; it was his job, and he was going to do it well. It wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows all the time, and sometimes, people got hurt, but it was the renewed smiles that he had to live for, that reminded him why he came to work every day. In moments, he fell asleep, enveloped by Castiel’s arms.

\---

Dean woke up the next morning with a stiff crick in his neck and painful red eyes from the position he had fallen asleep in and all of the crying he had done. It took him awhile to realize just exactly where he was and who was with him, groggy from sleep, but he slowly awoke to full consciousness with the feeling of soft fingers carding gently through his hair.

“Morning,” he whispered, voice sleep-hoarse, looking up into the eyes of the man that held him cradled against his chest.

“Morning,” Cas returned. He had a faraway look in his eyes, though, as if his mind was miles away from the couch in Dean’s apartment.

Dean shifted in his position so that he could get a better look at him. He had lost his first patient the day before and had been consumed by the grief and Cas had come over to comfort him through it, but he _too_ had lost someone. Just because Cas had worked in child psychiatry for a lot longer than Dean had didn’t mean he wasn’t numb from the loss of a child’s life. He felt selfish for having not asked Cas how _he_ was feeling and for not being able to be there for him, too.

“Are you alright?” asked Dean, nudging Castiel’s cheek with his nose.

Cas smoothed his hand down Dean’s back, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. “Anna,” he began, taking a deep breath. “Anna was my step-sister. My mother died when I was young and my father remarried not long after; our family went from just Gabriel and I to five of us - Michael, Lucifer, and Anna. Our parents were busy with work and weren’t home much, so we were all left to our own devices most of the time. Michael and Lucifer are older than Gabriel and so the three of them usually spent time together, but Anna… We were inseparable, and I looked up to her like she was an angel.” Cas huffed a rueful laugh. “She might as well have been, with her fiery red hair; it certainly matched her attitude.”

Dean frowned, uncertain why Cas why telling him this then, why _now_? He wanted to know more about Castiel’s family, better understand his life, but his sleep-groggy brain was having trouble catching up to exactly what was being said. Had it something to do with why Gabriel was always so protective of him? Why Michael and Lucifer lived back on the East coast, but Cas had spent most of his life running? Why he’d settled as far away from New York as possible and Gabriel had come to take care of him?

“Everything was fine growing up. She and I used to play outside with sticks and leaves, and I’d let her convince me to join her tea parties when the fancy struck her. It wasn’t until she got to high school that I realized that everything _wasn’t_ okay.” Castiel’s hands stilled on Dean’s back as he seemed to struggle to find the energy to keep going with his story. “She was involved in a lot of different activities at school, had a boyfriend on the track team, but then she started to push away from me, to push away from _everyone_. She would lock herself up in her room when she came back from school, saying something about having to study for her SATs, or work on her college essay,” Cas shrugged, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I went to check up on her one afternoon after a friend drove me back from soccer practice; she usually drove me to school and stuff, especially after Gabriel and the others left for college, but she hadn’t been feeling well and hadn’t gone to school that morning, so I wanted to make sure she was okay.” Castiel’s arms pulled tighter around Dean’s shoulders as if he was comforting himself by clinging to something solid. “When I knocked on the door, she ripped it open and yelled at me; said she hated how I never minded my own business and how I should get out of her life and leave her alone. Our parents weren’t home and I didn’t know what to do, so I just went to my own room and _cried_. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong to make her so mad at me.” 

“She apologized after a few days, but things still felt stilted between us. It was like we were going through the motions of being the siblings we were before.” A twisted, self-deprecating smile curved on Castiel’s lips. “I should’ve known, really. A couple months later, I took the bus home from school to find her car on the driveway, which didn’t make sense; she normally only came home around dinner time since she usually had a club meeting or sports practice after school. I went up to her room to try and find her and heard music playing, but the door was locked; I knocked and knocked, but she wouldn’t open. I got nervous so I rammed my shoulder in, trying to bust open the lock, and-”

His voice cut off, his eyes heavy with tears threatening to roll past his lower lids. “She was lying on the ground, a bottle of her perfume spilled by her hand.” He closed his eyes, as if remembering the image seared on the other side of his eyelids. “I still remember the overpowering smell of mint, how cold she felt to the touch, how _red_ her hair looked when it was spread around her skin so _pale_. I panicked and called my parents, but by the time my father got home, it was too late. Hell, it’d been too late before I even _called_ them. Anna was _dead_ , and she wasn’t coming back.” By this point, the tears were falling down his face in earnest, his voice thick with them, and his shoulders heaved with shuddering sobs.

“I looked it up later… _Methyl salicylate_. Turns out it’s in a lot of things you use every day, but watered down; too much of it can kill you in minutes. And Anna… the textbooks called it ‘borderline personality disorder,’ said a diagnosis of it could be a death sentence. Maybe, though, if I had known better,” he choked, “If I had recognized the signs and just fucking _told_ someone, she’d still be here.”

Dean grabbed Cas by the shoulders, holding him close but also trying to turn his head so that he could look him in the eye. “No, Cas, you can’t think like that.”

“She wanted to be a high school English teacher; I’ve never met anyone as passionate about Shakespeare as she was…” Cas gulped down air between sobs, his fingers clenching and unclenching on Dean’s sleeves, “I knew something was wrong and I didn’t _help_ her. You don’t understand, Dean. Anna _was my fault_.”

“That’s not true,” Dean countered, “You were just a _kid_.”

Cas shook his head. “She was my big sister; it didn’t take a _psychiatrist_ to realize that something was diffe-”

“That’s not true, Cas, and you know it.” Dean’s lips trailed down Castiel’s cheeks, kissing away the tears that coursed down his face. “You couldn’t have done anything about it. You may be a doctor now, but you weren’t _then_.” 

Cas collapsed into Dean’s arms and allowed himself to be held until the sobs stopped wracking his body. “You asked me once why I went into medicine, went into child psych,” he whispered against Dean’s shoulder. “It was Anna. I had to help other people, like I wasn’t able to help her. Each and every patient that comes in, I see a little bit of her in them. Marin, Andy—I know I shouldn’t compare them to her, but it’s _hard_.”

Dean understood then why Cas had looked so uneasy when Marin was admitted into the hospital. He had been quaking by the nurses’ station, his hand trembling as he took down preliminary notes; he had been scared to see the girl because he was plagued by the memories of his sister. Gabriel’s vague comments, too, about watching over his younger brother because of the nature of his work—He had been worried that maybe psychiatry was too much for him. Seeing replicas of his sister every day couldn’t be easy.

“It’s alright, Cas,” Dean whispered, holding the man until his muscles relaxed and he lay pliant in his arms. “It’s going to be alright.” He only hoped that that was the truth.


	7. Chapter 7

Monday morning at the hospital had passed without incident. Meg, Charlie, and Balthazar didn’t ask questions when Dean and Cas came in together, nor did they pressure either of them to say anything about what they all knew to be the reason why Dean hadn’t come in to work the previous Friday. Learning to forget and move on was a big part of medicine, even if it stung and at times felt cold and heartless. Dean had to let go and do his job; like Cas had said, there were other kids that needed him out there and he couldn’t let one case keep him from getting back up on the horse. His pager had gone off while he was having a late dinner in his apartment - spaghetti and tomato sauce from a jar - so he took off towards the hospital. He wondered what had happened that was so urgent that he had to come in.

On the unit, Cas stood still by the nurses’ station, scrawling down notes in a new black binder, much like he had that first night that Dean was on call. He was wearing his coat this time, although he no longer had his tie around his neck. His hand moved quickly and surely, although the words that he wrote were shaky and slanted, as if he didn’t have full control over the pen. 

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked, leaning against the counter and trying to steal a peek at his notes. Under the fluorescent hospital lighting, he noticed that Cas’s skin looked drained of color, as if he was fighting to keep his composure. “Cas?” He didn’t trust the way the other doctor was avoiding his gaze, or just how uneasy he looked; it was just like Marin’s page all over again, with Cas struggling to remain cool, aloof, and professional while trying to come to terms with the details of the case he’d gotten from a phone call with the emergency department.

“I’m going to need you to take full control over this case; when the ED gets up here with the patient, I’d like you to make sure she’s sedated and comfortable and get her admission paperwork taken care of. Tomorrow morning, you’ll conduct the patient interview. Understood?” Castiel’s voice sounded rigid, mechanical, and without room for dissent.

“What’s the case?” asked Dean. Tension roiled in the pit of his stomach; judging from Castiel’s stance, he could tell that he wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

Cas dropped his pen in the middle of the chart and took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “The ED’s got a sixteen year old girl, Ava Wilson, with an acetaminophen overdose. Tox was called in and she’s now medically stable enough to move, so the plan is to admit her here and get her in a psychiatric treatment protocol. The computer shows some records from West Ward - she’s been seeing a psychiatrist in our group who has a practice set up in the physicians’ building down the street. She’s on a mild antidepressant and has been noted to have borderline tendencies…” His voice trailed off. 

Dean’s palms went sweaty with nerves, his pulse thundering in his ears. The age, the diagnosis—

This girl was similar to Marin, _too_ similar to Marin for him to deal with just yet. He had resumed control over his other case that morning without much problem, but now… he just couldn’t pick up another one just yet, not one that made him think of soft smiles and a snarky attitude.

He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, taking a step back from the nurses’ station. “I can’t do it, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed in frustration. “What do you _mean_ you can’t do it?”

“I can’t, Cas. I’ve got another case to work on, and I-”

Cas picked up his pen again and continued to write. “And you’re a perfectly capable doctor and can take up a _second_ case.”

“No, man, you don’t understand.” Dean raked his hands through his hair. It wasn’t because of the workload; it was because of the _patient_. He was still mourning the loss of another young girl, and he couldn’t be expected to pretend as if it didn’t happen and work through it. He hadn’t even seen the new patient yet, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to look at her without seeing the girl that he had spent afternoons joking around with in the group lounge. It was too soon for him to work with anyone who made him think of Marin, too soon for both him and the new patient; he couldn’t promise that he’d be able to work at his best of he was constantly being distracted.

“And what, may I ask, do I not understand?” Castiel’s eyes flashed with a frightening anger that Dean had never seen in them before. 

Dean didn’t have to answer; Castiel knew why he was rejecting responsibility over the case.

“I fucking lost a _sister_ , Dean. How do you think _I_ feel coming in to work every day? How do you think _I_ feel, looking into the faces of the girls and boys that come in here with their problems, hoping that I’m some kind of miracle worker that can wave all of their pain away? D’you want to know what I see? I see Anna - _everywhere_ , in all of their faces - but I suck it up and _deal_ with it because I loved her and _still_ love her and want to save others in the way that I couldn’t save her! What d’you think would happen to this unit if I decided that I couldn’t take up a new patient because I was still upset over losing another?”

Dean held up his hands by his chest in defense, staring at Castiel, completely shell-shocked. “Cas, I didn’t think-”

“Yeah, you didn’t think,” snapped Castiel, picking up his pen once again and writing with a renewed sense of purpose. “You had _three years_ of adult training before this, and you managed to prove you were competent enough at _that_ , so you’re going to swallow down what the hell it is that’s holding you back and _do your job_. Do you understand, Dr. Winchester?”

Cold dread pumped its way through Dean’s veins, freezing him to his spot. He had poked a nerve and shattered whatever composure that Cas had, sparking him to revert back to calling him by his professional title. He swallowed down the painful knot that had lodged itself in his throat and hesitantly reached a hand to touch his shoulder. “Cas, I-”

Cas ducked away from the touch and unclipped his phone from his belt. Thumbs flying on the screen, he sent off a quick page and pocketed his phone once again. “I’ll have Dr. Bradbury come in and work with me on the case. You’re free to go.”

Was that it, then? Was Cas just going to send him home, knock him off of the case and give it to Charlie? She wasn’t even on rotation with them; this would be her first real exposure to the inpatient side of clinical work. _He_ was supposed to be the fellow in charge of the East Ward for the next couple of months. He was hurt that Cas was so quick to give it to someone else, although he understood; he hadn’t exactly been keen to take up the patient.

“That’ll be all, Dr. Winchester.”

Dean cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. “Yes, Dr. Novak.”

\---

The air in the hospital the next morning felt tense. Cas wasn’t at his post by the team Dean and Charlie got in and Meg had passed on the message that he was waiting for Dr. Bradbury to meet him in the patient interview room.

“Damn, Dean; what did you do to piss him off that?” asked Charlie

Dean shrugged a shoulder, avoiding the question, and pulled the chart for his patient from the shelf by the nurses’ station. “We had a disagreement,” he muttered, flipping to the most recent notes scribbled in by the last nurse to see his patient.

“A disagreement that led to you being bumped off a new case and me being dragged in to your rotation?” Charlie prodded.

Dean speared her with a harsh look that said _leave me alone_ and turned back to his notes.

“Whatever,” she muttered under her breath and set off to meet with Cas.

Meg leaned across the counter, pressing her side up against his to get his attention. “Was it because of the new patient?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Dean snapped, closing the chart and putting it back on the shelf. He pocketed his pen in his chest pocket and smoothed out his coat. “I have a patient to see and some charting to do, and then I’m going home.”

“Calm down, Dean-O, I was just asking a question.”

Dean ignored her and went to go find his patient. He didn’t feel bad that Cas had written him off of the case so easily; he hadn’t even _wanted_ it. Hell, who was he kidding? Just because he didn’t _want_ the case didn’t mean he didn’t want the clinical exposure. Angering his attending enough to drag the other fellow into this couldn’t be good for him professionally. Not only that, but the fight they’d had last night—it had been just like he’d imagined it; nothing good could stay good for too long. Somewhere along the way, he’d known he would’ve fucked things up; he just happened to have fucked things up a little sooner than he’d liked. He’d gone and proven that he wasn’t strong enough to take on the responsibility that Cas had trusted him with by avoiding a case and had touched on a personal nerve that he’d kept buried deep within him - the story of Anna. How was he supposed to apologize for that? Hallmark didn’t make a card that said, ‘Sorry I’m a dumbass; do you still love me?’

His mind choked around the word. _Love._

Did he love Cas? He was attracted to him—that was for sure. His blood caught fire whenever they were close and Dean burned with lust under Cas’ touch. But did he _love_ him?

He thought about the stupid little way he tore off bits off his breakfast pastries to eat them instead of taking large bites, and how his eyes and nose scrunched up when he laughed. He thought about his mismatched furniture and collections of different art pieces that he’d gotten from years of sifting through yard sales with his brother. He thought about how he’d travelled the entire country before settling in Seattle to work, a little bird that couldn’t stay in one place for too long. Thinking of Cas filled him with a sort of fondness that he hadn’t felt before, something that tickled in his chest and warmed him from within. Maybe it wasn’t love just yet, but it was close, and now it wasn’t.

Now, it was gone. Cas hadn’t explicitly told him that whatever it was they had between them was gone, but he had said as much when he sent him home with a sharp, “Dr. Winchester.”

Nothing could stay good for long; he should’ve known that before he let himself get too carried away in the whirlwind that was _Castiel Novak._

The rest of the day passed by in a blur of charting and patient visits; by the time he was getting ready to leave, he still hadn’t seen Cas. Charlie had popped up every now and then, but the other doctor was nowhere to be found. That certainly answered his question. 

Dean packed up his belongings, swung his bag over his shoulder, and went home.

\---

Castiel had spent the majority of his day hiding like a child in under all of his work. He hadn’t wanted to see Dean because, although he had to admit that maybe he had been too harsh on him the night before, the fact of the matter was that Dean had upset him. He was still wounded from the loss of Marin; although it didn’t hit him as harshly as it had Dean, the loss of any patient was enough to send him reeling back into his memories of Anna. He had to struggle to remain calm so that he could go back to work and do his job; he had patients who were counting on him and he couldn’t afford to let his emotions slip for a minute. He shouldn’t have called Charlie in to take over the case, especially since she wasn’t on call for their rotation, but he’d been fueled by his anger and did it anyway. Now, he retreated with his charts into his office and updated all of them with the new notes he had taken.

He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten until he heard the door open and Balthazar flop in a chair beside him. 

Balthazar toed the bottom of his chair, pushing it out from under his desk. “What’s wrong, Cassy? I just saw your little boyfriend go home looking like a wounded puppy. Is he sleeping on the couch tonight?”

Castiel inched away from Balthazar’s foot and continued typing away on his computer, putting in some orders for one of his patients. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, avoiding looking his partner in the face.

“Cassy.” Balthazar didn’t appear to be willing to deal with Castiel’s avoidance, so he got to his feet and grabbed the back of his chair with both hands, spinning him away from the computer so that he had to look him in the face. “What happened?”

Castiel chewed on his lower lip and crossed his arms over the front of his chest. How was he supposed to tell Balthazar that he had gotten angry because Dean hadn’t been able to stow his personal issues aside to take over his professional work? When he put it that way, _he_ was the one who sounded like an insensitive idiot.

“I told him about Anna.”

Balthazar frowned, unsure of how that would have affected his friend’s relationship so poorly. “And?”

“And,” Castiel began, “When we were on call last night, he refused to take control over the new patient’s case because she reminded him too much of Marin.”

“And?” Balthazar asked, nudging Castiel to continue. 

“And that’s _that_ ,” said Cas, “I got angry with him, and, I don’t know, I lost control, okay? I called Charlie and wrote him off of the case because I was upset with him for not taking charge. He said I didn’t understand what he was going through. _Me_ —as if I don’t have to deal with the same thing and more each and every day of my life.” Out in the open, his words reverberating back to him, he realized just how selfish he’d been and wished he had taken the time to apologize before Dean had gone home instead of hiding like a coward in his office.

Balthazar took his hand, forcing him to unfold his arms, and rubbed his thumb in a small circle on the back of his hand. “Castiel; I know it hurts, but you can’t let your memories of Anna keep you down. You do realize that you got angry at Dean for feeling the same way _you_ do.”

When Balthazar put things that way—

Cas pulled back his hand and stared at his lap; he fiddled with the corner of his lab coat. “What am I supposed to do?” His voice sounded small.

“You’re going to go on over to him and apologize,” said Balthazar. He patted Castiel’s thigh before standing up and stretching his arms behind his back.

“What?”

“You heard me. Now get out of here; I’ll make sure all of your charts are saved and you can finish the rest in the morning.”

Castiel grabbed his bag from where it hung by the door. “Thank you, Balthazar.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, sitting in Castiel’s seat. “I mean it. Don’t mention it. _Ever_.”

Castiel laughed and hurried out of the hospital to his car. He hoped to find Dean at his apartment. He had to find him, tell him he was sorry, and make sure everything was okay; he couldn’t stand to lose someone else.

\---

Dean was chopping up vegetables - he’d never tell Sammy, but he actually liked roasted zucchini and eggplant when it was prepared with enough cheese and tomato sauce - in his kitchen when he heard the buzzer ring on his intercom. He carefully set down his knife on the cutting board and, wiping his hands on a towel that hung off the handle of his oven, pressed the button to unlock the front door. He hadn’t been expecting any visitors and he probably should have checked to see who was outside, but he figured that it was probably Charlie coming over to tell him about the case and maybe get him to talk to Cas.

The thing was, it was obvious that Cas didn’t want to talk to _him_. He could sit the man down and apologize until his throat was sore, but if he was avoiding him by skulking around in his office, then he wasn’t going to be able to make him listen. He’d try and give him some space, see if some time away would cool down whatever heated tension their heightened emotions had riled up between them. Dean huffed to himself, picking up his knife again and returning to slicing through a large eggplant. _Space_. As if _that_ ever worked.

He had really hoped things would be different this time. He had allowed himself to go after something he wanted - something that he rarely let himself do - and had been hurt in the end. It had been fun while it lasted, however short it might have been.

The sound of knocking echoed into his living room and he wiped his hands off yet again before going to see who it was. He hoped Charlie had stopped by Heavenly Grounds on her way over and brought a box of Gabe’s cinnamon apple tartlets; he needed those.

“Charlie, you better ‘ve brou-”

It _wasn’t_ Charlie.

It was _Cas_ , with his messy dark hair and stupid blue eyes and eternal five o’clock shadow. Cas, with his crooked tie and wrinkled button-down and his bag slung over his shoulder. Cas, who he’d thought was mad at him, was here now with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Hello, Dean,” greeted Castiel, offering a tiny crooked smile that didn’t sit well on his face, as if he was trying out something new that he didn’t quite feel comfortable with.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean breathed, unmoving from the front of the door. He wanted to blurt out and ask what he was doing there, but instead was frozen in place. He’d that for sure the guy didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, but here he was, in the flesh, standing on his doorstep. 

“Can I come in?” asked Castiel.

“Yeah, of course.” Dean stepped out of the entryway, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. “What brings you around?” He inwardly winced at just how _lame_ that sounded. He had been working alongside Cas for quite some time now, not to mention spending time with him outside of work, and all of a sudden he was tripping over his words and talking like an awkward teenager trying to ask the head of the cheer squad to homecoming.

“I came to apologize,” said Castiel. He stared at the ground by Dean’s feet, avoiding eye contact, and fiddled with the strap of his messenger bag.

“Apologize?” asked Dean, incredulous. “What for?” _He_ was supposed to be apologizing - not Cas. 

“I was… rude to you, and insensitive. I should have been more understanding; Marin was your first patient on the ward, and you two had gotten to be close.”

Dean took Cas by the elbow, leading him further into the living room and sitting on the couch. If they were going to be having a serious conversation, he didn’t want it to be standing in the entryway like a couple of emotionally stilted losers - which, to be frank, they were, but that wasn’t the point.

“It’s just that…” Cas cleared his throat. Seated on the couch, he was still being evasive, although he had allowed his bag to fall to the ground and was now tugging at his shirt cuffs. Biting his lower lip, he lifted his eyes to look at Dean, blue meeting green. “I’m not very good at…” He waved his hand absently between the two of them. “Losing Anna hurt me, in ways that I’m not sure I’ve ever been able to heal. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to find somewhere to fit in, but maybe all I’ve been doing is running away from my own problems, letting them bottle up, and spitting them back out.”

“Are you self-psychoanalyzing, Dr. Novak?” Dean teased. He placed a hand on top of Castiel’s stilling his nervous movements.

That teased a small smile onto his face, one that actually reached his eyes and crinkled tiny crow’s feet by the corners. “What I’m trying to say is,” he hesitated, “I may be broken and weighed down by a lot of my own issues, but, if you’d be willing, I’d like to try again, with us. If you’d rather just go back to being partners, that’s fine, and I understand, but I’d like more than that.”

Dean’s hand tightened around Castiel’s wrist in a reassuring grip. They were both a little worn around the edges, and in a field as tense as theirs, it was difficult to get caught up in all of the emotions swirling around them. Each of them had a reason for pursuing medicine, whether it be to help out other lost children or teens who needed support, they had been drawn to their field to bring back smiles and a sense of peace. Dean had grown up thinking that he had to fill in his father’s shoes as a surgeon, but later on realized that he could take what he wanted and instead followed the career path that brought him the most fulfillment; in spite of this, he was scared to pursue what he wanted, scared that it would all blow up in his face because he didn’t deserve it. Cas had tried to escape his own problems, running off to the west coast to start a new life for himself, but he was still plagued by the ghost of a sister whose death he never forgave himself for. They made quite a pair, what with all of the flaws in their armor.

He rested his forehead against Castiel’s, slipping his hand from his wrist to his arm. “I want to give us a shot,” he said and, tentatively, pressed his lips against Castiel’s in a soft, searching kiss.

Cas remained motionless for a moment before deepening the kiss, slotting their mouths together and pulling Dean into a heated clash of lips and teeth and teeth and tongue. His fingers slid to the nape of his neck and curled in the hair the base of his head, tugging slightly and earning a low whine from deep in his throat in response.

Dean held tight to Castiel’s back, pulling him close, his fingers pressing hard against his shoulder blades and sliding down, his thumbs skating over his ribs. He tugged on the other man’s shirt, untucking it from his pants and rucking it up his waist so that he could feel his soft skin under his hands. One hand moved to his front, nimbly working the buttons open and pushing the fabric to the sides and off so that he could run the pads of his fingers down bare skin. Cas nipped at his lip, chasing him as he broke the kiss, hot breath ghosting over his lips. His pulse raced under his skin, beating a steady mantra of _Cas_ , _Cas_ , _Cas_ , heat pooling low in his belly. He craved more of his touch and pulled his shirt over his head, one hand slipping to Castiel’s back so that he could press their bare chests together, so close that he could practically _feel_ his heartbeat. He pressed hot open-mouthed kisses down Castiel’s neck, nipping at his collar bone and sinking his teeth into the flesh by his shoulder, causing Cas to cry out and and toss his head back in pleasure. He soothed the bite with his tongue, kissing his mark before moving lower, kissing further down his chest, introducing teeth and tongue every few inches. 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas moaned, his voice completely wrecked, a wanton sound that went straight to Dean’s dick.

“I’ve got you, angel.” He sunk to his knees on the floor in front of the couch, settling between the dark haired man’s knees. Castiel’s cock strained against the fabric of his pants, making Dean’s mouth water for the taste of him. He quickly undid the button and zip of his pants, pulling them and his boxers down to his ankles in a single fluid motion. Ducking his head, he took the head of Castiel’s cock in his mouth, circling his tongue once, twice, around the crown before swallowing down more of him. Cas’s hips twitched, bucking up into that delicious wet heat, and he mewled in protest when Dean pinned his thighs down on the couch with his hands. Dean sucked harder, taking as much of Cas as he could down his throat, looking up at him with green eyes clouded with lust. 

Cas buried his fingers in Dean’s hair, holding on to his head and watching as he disappeared, inch by inch, into that sinful mouth, past his full red lips. Dean hummed contently around his cock, the vibrations sending pulses of pleasure through his body. He wasn’t going to last long, what with Dean sucking cock like his fucking life depended on it, and he tugged on his hair. “Dean. _Dean_ ,” he begged, struggling to keep his eyes open, overcome by the sensation.

Dean ran his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock, pulling off just slightly and sucking hard on the head before bobbing back down, his teeth skating lightly along the sensitive skin. He moved rhythmically and with earnest, his hand twisting and moving down the part of his length that he couldn’t take in his mouth before slipping down and cupping his balls. 

“Dean, I’m-” Cas bit down hard on his lower lip and came down his throat with a low groan. Dean swallowed down each last drop and pulled off with a filthy pop, twisting his hand down his length and stroking him through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Cas lay panting against the couch, a heated flush spread across his chest and neck. Dean waited for him to catch his breath before rose to his feet and carefully took him by the hand, leading him off in the direction of his bedroom. Once there, Cas pressed him hard against the wall, licking into his mouth and tasting himself on his tongue. He reached between them, cupping Dean’s erection through his pants, drawing out a moan of “ _Cas_ ” from Dean’s lips.

“This isn’t fair,” he growled against Dean’s mouth, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of his pants. He deftly undid the closer, pulling down the zip and shucking his pants and boxers to the floor. Dean stepped out of them, kicking them off of his ankles, as he let Cas back him away from the wall and towards his bed.

They fell onto each other on the mattress, kissing each other with renewed fervor. Dean’s hands were everywhere and not enough, tracing the ridges of Castiel’s ribs, running down the lithe muscles of his back. Cas shifted their position, rolling them so that he straddled Dean’s hips. He pressed kisses down Dean’s neck and chest, his tongue tentatively darting out to tease a nipple. He repeated the action when it coaxed out a whimper from throat. He kept moving lower and lower, skipping over Dean’s cock despite the way his hips twitched, settling instead lower on the bed. He hooked one of Dean’s legs over his shoulder and kneaded his ass cheeks, spreading them to expose the pink rim of his hole.

“Cas, what’re you-” Dean’s voice broke on a moan as Cas licked a broad stripe along his hole, his tongue darting out to tease at the rim before slipping in a finger. He poked his tongue in along with his finger, stretching him until he could slide the digit in past the first knuckle. 

Dean writhed underneath Castiel’s ministrations, his hips pleading for more.

Cas pushed in a second finger, all the while licking at his hole. He crooked his fingers inside of him, searching for the spot that he knew would make the other man cry out in pleasure.

“Christ!” Dean shouted. _There it was._

“Cas, Cas,” Dean whined, trying to fuck himself down on the dark haired man’s fingers. “I’m ready; I need you.”

“Are you sure?” asked Cas, pausing to stare up at Dean from between his legs.

Dean nodded frantically, twisting his hands in the sheets. “ _Fuck_ yeah, Cas. Need your cock.”

Cas pulled out his fingers pumped his hand a couple of times on his own dick before lining himself up and slowly, torturously slowly, pushing himself in to the hilt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean groaned, pressing his head back against the pillow, “C’mere.”

Cas leaned up and took his mouth in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue, as his hips snapped forward, fucking into him at a slow, languid pace.

Dean’s fingers scrabbled for purchase on Castiel’s back, his nails leaving small red crescents on his shoulders. He felt full to bursting, Castiel’s cocking hitting that spot inside of him that made stars burst behind his eyelids. Nothing had ever felt like _this_ before. Cas’s hot breath against his skin, the feel of his body pressed close to his, the clean sent of sandalwood that was just _Cas_ and the hot musk of sex in his nostrils… No, this was more than just sex; this was more than just sweaty bodies rutting against each other, desperate for completion. This was an exchange of trust, of a dangerous ‘l’ word that danced on the tip of his tongue. Nothing had ever felt like this before and he doubted it ever would because this was _Cas_ , the doctor with a crack in his chassis who had let Dean see a vulnerable side of him that he had always kept under lock and key. This was _Cas_ , the man who saw straight through his bullshit and called him out, pushing him to be the very best he could be.

This was _Cas_ , and there was nothing else he wanted.

Castiel’s hips stuttered, his movements growing erratic. He reached between them, grabbing Dean’s cock and pumping his fist to the rhythm of his thrusts until Dean was coming, Cas’ name on his lips, come streaking his stomach. Cas came shortly afterwards, collapsing on top of him in a boneless heap.

Dean lay underneath him until he caught his breath and then nudged him to the side so that he could cover them both with a sheet. He nuzzled close, pressing his head under the crook of Castiel’s arm; let it be known that, when he wanted to be, Dean Winchester was quite the cuddler. Cas held him against his chest, inhaling deeply the scent of coriander and leather that clung to Dean like a second skin.

“I love you,” Dean whispered against Castiel’s neck before falling asleep, because that was what this _was_. He felt _whole_ when he was with Cas, as if he didn’t have to put up any barriers. He knew that he was broken - Cas, too - but maybe, just maybe, together they could mold each other into something better.

\---

“Where’s Dean?” asked Gabriel as he steamed the milk for Charlie’s latte behind the counter.

“Fuck if I know,” she replied, absently twirling a lock of red hair behind her finger, “He said he was going to meet me here, said he was running late.”

“How’s it been going at work?”

“He and Dr. Novak had a bit of a fallout the other day, which really sucked, because not only did I have to deal with a mopey _Dean_ , but I got dragged onto the inpatient rotation and had to put up with a grumpy Castiel,” Charlie groused. She gratefully accepted the coffee and took a sip, relishing in the bitter taste on her tongue.

The brass bells that Gabriel had collected at a local flea market and tied up by the door with a scrap of fabric - Cas had called it tacky, but he knew it was because he’d wanted the bells for himself - tinkled as the door was pulled open.

“Don’t think you’ll be having to deal with grouchy lovebirds for too long,” said Gabriel, gesturing to the door.

Sure enough, there was Dean, ushering Cas into the air-conditioned haven of the coffee shop.

“Morning, Charlie, Gabriel,” he called, waving to them both. “I’ll have my usual and an earl grey for Cas.”

“Good morning, Gabriel, Dr. Bradbury,” said Castiel, a large grin on his face.

“Ain’t this somethin’,” Gabriel teased, but set off to work on their drinks without another word.

Charlie looked incredulously between the two men, as if she couldn’t believe that they were standing next to each other. “So, you guys are good now? Better make a decision; you’re giving me second-hand emotional whiplash over here.”

Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. Were they good? Well, they were then, for the time being, at least; he didn’t know what was in his future, as much as he hoped it included waking up to a head of dark hair in his mouth and having to race to get the first shower (although that morning, they had decided sharing was the better option). If they were able to deal with the curveballs life threw at them, then yeah, they were good; they were more than good.

“As long as Cas doesn’t get tired of me, I think we’re okay,” said Dean.

Cas leaned into Dean’s shoulder. “We’re great.”


End file.
